


Nag Kath Book Four; Second Lives

by Gelansor



Series: Nag Kath [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 146,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Series: Nag Kath [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155053





	1. Call of the Sea

**_This starts Second Lives_ **

**_The fourth book of Nag Kath_ **

****

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_Call of the Sea_ **

**Slight spoiler; family trees for the Shurran and Eniecia families are on the last three pages of the appendices here:<https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> They include dates of birth and death.**

As with Eniece, losing Phyll meant time to reflect. He knew in his heart that another long marriage would be difficult. In a curious way of counting, he was still a young man when he married Phylless. That couldn't happen again. And it bothered him. One shouldn't know too much for love to grow. Nag Kath had his pick of women who would be glad to try, but this was not an inheritance. 

He and Phylless seldom talked about her leaving the circles of the world. She was a confident woman, lived her life and let the chips fall. The vague lore that Elves who died would be be recreated might not come to pass for a changeling such as him. Nag Kath didn't worry either. He did his best with the tools to hand. 

It was also a period to take inventory of the greater world. Shur and Eniecia were still fit and strong with growing families. Nag Kath would embrace them but not cling. Haldiera was ten years older than Eniecia, more mother than sister when they were little. She would complete her life in Buhr Austar. Family in Dale had been glad to see him every ten years or so, but now in their fifth generation, he was past influence, as he should be. Great, great grandfathers shouldn’t look over your shoulder.

What of the Elves? There were still Silvans in the Halls and Lorien. He was interested but never invited. A Nag-Kath grin spread across his face wondering if he should he go to Emyn Vierald after his mourning and woo the lovely Quenda healer. They would attend theater in Dol Amroth and then dance slowly in a club on the fifth before she fell into his arms. No, she had already sailed and could not have been taken from their world any more than Gracie could leave Dale. Presumptuous orcs should know their place! That got another grin.

The Elf had wherewithal. Somehow paying little attention to finances worked. Shurran was 66 and retired from both design and management with son Reyaldar taking the reins in his capable hands. Things in Osgiliath were also in the next generation of control. Both here and Dale had been structured so Nag Kath didn’t have to do anything. He would have been a miserable businessman and was never willing to learn. Good men could do that, and they did.

In the world were threats to the King’s Peace, threats only he could see. They had behaved, of late. Nag Kath would follow Orlo’s hints however far and long they led. Lifeless eyes still stared from the Dead Marshes. Spirits walked the Mournshaws. Only desperate men crossed the Barrow Downs. Orcs prowled the northern wastes. That men in their short lives would not bother with them did not absolve him from the duty, well, suggestion, by his former mentors to heal the land in service.

Nag Kath decided he would sharpen his skills with the militias and go to Dol Amroth in the autumn. That went well. Ten years before, the central Gondor command initiated four training sessions of a week each rather than three, partly because of the difficulty of getting the tall city to efficiently drain its warriors out the bottom. Even so, the days were past when a man must serve on the line in combat to advance in any other occupation. They had to train, and shirking that duty could haunt someone thinking of high office, but many lords of commerce would not have their pampered men-children guarding some miserable border swamp just to earn the patch.

Lord Kath never held a line commission or had so much as a batman. He was staff, and no one, from the King down, knew exactly of what. The sense among the few who truly knew him was that you did not hear until he was done. He rode with the Elendil Lancers and taught a session of Slow Swords for men who wanted to feel that craft in their blood. This year he attended all four weeks on Nemren, a stallion now in his seventh year. A wealthy property owner who dealt with Kathen purchased him from the Lossarnach depot for vanity and never properly trained him to ride in line at speed. When the old boy’s gout finally defeated his pride, he sold the animal to Nag Kath. A month with professional cavalry really helped the horse understand what he was born to do.

It was time to travel. Other than the coast of Belfalas, Nag Kath had not seen any of great sea. Orlo’s coin told him, no, hinted, he might find answers south of Harad. There were vast coastal ways in Gondor along the great river mouths and then the Elvish harbors now said to be empty. The way to reach both was Dol Amroth. 

______________-------______________

Eldarion was forty three but could pass for a clean-shaven thirty. Like his father, he would marry late. Father and son were waiting in the King’s office when Lord Kath was introduced. After his bow, both men shook his hand and showed him to the same chairs and low table for favored guests. The King smiled and recalled, “It has been almost a year. I hope you got my letter.”

“I did, Sire. Thank you for thinking of her. Phylless will be with me always. And you, gentlemen? I do not suppose you have heard from the ornery Lord Gimli?”

Aragorn smiled through his gray beard and answered, “I got a letter from him only last month. He and Legolas are at the caves again. It must be Legolas’ turn under the mountain.”

That gave Nag Kath a chance to ask of the Ithilien Elves conversationally, “Matters must be well in hand to the south.”

Eldarion did not betray any secrets in saying, “They are gone to the west, though some returned to the Woodland Realm.”

That confirmed Elboron’s educated guess. So much for romancing the healer! Nag Kath admitted, “I have not kept track since the business with the pool. My Lords; have there been any more disturbances from the dead?”

Aragorn shook his head before replying, “Nothing definite, but few people go where they tread. It may be well past my time before those lands are attractive. I cannot think what the Easterlings see in them.”

Eldarion asked, “What news of Dale? I know you were much of that fair land.”

“Still fair, sir. I have two adopted families from Dale. One is now five generations from me. I have not heard in some time. The other family moved here and I am still close to two grandchildren, lo they are elderly with flocks of their own. 

“Sire, Lord Eldarion, perhaps you can help me; you said the Elves have left Ithilien. Do you know if they are still in the Grey Havens of Lindon? I thought to travel there, but do not want to trespass.”

The Prince answered, “Few if any. The shipwrights have long sailed.”

Nag Kath wondered how Legolas would leave. That could wait, “Do your Lordships’ vessels ply those routes now? I should think that would be the way to visit Annúminas with the coasts secure.”

Aragorn thought long before saying, “Not yet. It may well be a better path, but winds and water are dangerous also, and there are many subjects to honor along the way. Prince Eldarion rode there last year in my stead.”

That got the grin, “I am sure you kept your Lord Father’s strong pace. By your leave, sirs, I think I will travel to Lindon and learn what I can. After that, perhaps I will explore the coast of Harad. That was a clue from my little sorcerer.”

The King said, “Gladly, though neither is of my domain. Give us a full report. Should I see the Lord of the Glittering Caves; we will hoist a tankard for favor in your journeys.”

After the Elf was dismissed, Eldarion stared at his boots for a moment before asking, “Father, he has done yeoman service. Why does mother distrust him still?”

Gazing into space, Aragorn replied, “In Elvish time, he is still too near the peril of old, else I would have said more of Legolas going north. She has the wisdom of an Age and would not have tempted fate as I did. No, son, I fear he is a spirit bound to wander long years. Nag Kath has been a friend to Gondor at great risk and terrible cost.”

The Prince considered that and wondered, “But not a true friend?”

Aragorn looked at his perceptive son. Was that how it appeared? “How so?”

“Forgive me, father. I need to learn the old tools. He seems the last of his kind. You have brought him into your service in need, but not in fellowship. Please tell me when you can.”

Eldarion bowed and left the King with his thoughts. Yes, ‘not in fellowship’. Aragorn’s friends were invited to Lossarnach or at table to commemorate his coronation, places Arwen would be. He thought of that every day when he passed the portrait of himself and his Lady Queen, frozen in mind of an Uruk-hai on trial for his life.

The King sat alone and considered a use for Nag Kath he dared not even tell his heir. Aragorn could feel time in his bones. Losing Pippin and Faramir weighed on his mind. Only the three Fellows who tracked Nag Kath’s Uruk-hai across the plain were left. Legolas might live an age. Gimli could last another hundred years. But the graying King would leave his Arwen a widow within a generation of men, two at best.

She had bound herself to him in mortal life. Would she diminish? Would she succumb in grief? The King would return her gift! He would have her join her people if she still could. Men could not reach the Undying Lands. They sank or sailed in circles where the shore should be now that the Valar had removed Aman from mortal reach. With the great Mariner Elf Lord Cirdan of Lindon gone, Arwen would need one of two remaining Elves capable of taking the ‘straight road’ to the Undying Lands.

Aragorn watched Nag Kath’s eyes when told the last ship had sailed. The changeling was clever, if not subtle. He did not seem disappointed. It was no secret that Legolas intended to sail west, probably after the Fellowship became legend. Of those two Elves; the one with the silly grin had an uncanny knack for finding solutions everyone else stumbled past.

Yes, Nag Kath; explore the Elvish harbors and tell your King the tale.

And yes, my son; the changeling deserves better.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath and his very nervous horse took the Bounteous for Pelargir to visit Phylless and Helien. From there he boarded the blue-water Maiden’s Breath to Dol Amroth. It was a miserable trip with storms coming early this year. Of the twelve passengers, six were green, five held their own and one helped the deckhands tack the sails. Nemren was a poor sailor. Nag Kath brought him along with more than his usual kit because this would probably be a long stay. The Elf soothed the poor animal frequently. Two days before making land, the skies cleared and the horse gentled.

At 65, Eniecia still had her great granna Borenne’s timeless beauty. Cal was half Dúnedain and might last much longer. They had debated selling their large home after their children had children for so long that old Captain Ivandred moved in with them after his dear Durnalath died twelve years ago. He was young at one hundred and four, still walking every sunny day tall and strong. Not that anyone bothered counting but Nag Kath was a stripling at eighty-nine.

Caladrion was sixty-eight and now in his sixth year as Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Principality. One would think such things would be managed from Minas Tirith, but the rulers of Dol Amroth thought relations with their neighbors fell in their purview, thank you very much. Their son Field was forty four and daughter Callistra a year behind. Field had two daughters with his wife Grenda. The older girl was Raniece who was twenty and favored her da, not a bad thing for a lass since he had fine features that translated well. She was athletic and enjoyed riding. 

The younger girl was Talienne. She was the next Queen Nepthat, albeit it with lighter hair. Just eighteen, she was attracting attention from eligible lads as well. There was no hurry. Like her granna, Talienne, liked books and reading but also rode with her sister and Cal or a sharp-eyed soldier.

Callistra married the estimable Phaeron Libron who had achieved the rank of Lieutenant before joining his father’s firm. He also managed the property Eniecia inherited from her parents here in Dol Amroth and banked payments from holdings in Minas Tirith. It was not much work since Phaeron had a capable man in their office who actually ran things. Nag Kath liked them both. 

Callistra had some of Tal’s duties as doyen of Dol Amroth and amateur matchmaker, though her raised eyebrow was middling at best. She made up for it with a pleasant smile and charitable disposition. They had two children as well; son Menalgir, Subaltern in the Marines, and daughter Derissa who was thirteen. All four of the grandchildren were considered in the lower end of the top-echelon of marriageable Dol Amroth. They were the direct descendants of King Brand on Eniecia’s side and grandchildren of Minister Caladrion, well respected in his own right. Cal was also cousin to the King of Rohan. Being Thain-kin of the barbarous Buhrs did not count for much more than their relationship to the dubious Uncle Nag. 

There was more to that than met the cultured eyes of Dol Amroth. Eniecia and Shurran each came into a hundred Florin from their parents’ estates. Their children knew that but the youngsters didn’t. Most of Eniecia’s legacy was in Minas Tirith property paying cash and rents which supported Cal’s station. They also owned a few local properties which Field managed.

Uncle Nag hadn't been here since Prince Faramir died. He was still popular, even if the children were too old for groats coming out of their ears. A large family dinner was organized at the Boar and Hare. There had never been boars on the rock and hares ate the gardens. At first, everyone was very cautious around the recent widower but he seemed his usual self and old stories flowed. Captain Ivandred was able to walk down by himself though he and Eniecia took a man-cart back up the hill.

The Elf’s house was rented after his long absence. Of course, Nag Kath was invited to stay with Cal and Eniecia, but between the couple, Captain and two domestics, it would be crowded with a new resident who did not sleep. He looked for a building near the Commercial Harbor that could serve as home and headquarters for his next forays into the unknown. 

After two weeks, what had been a business three blocks back from the quayside in New Port was his. Of modest size, the ground floor was like his first home in Dale with one large room, kitchen, privy and spare room for servants. Upstairs was mostly bedrooms but the main room below was open on both floors. He would make the largest space upstairs his library for the books and drawings in their hanging folios. The files in Dale would have to stay there for now. 

What sealed the deal was that it was only three blocks from the rare stable where Eniecia kept their horse and in a direct line to her house on other side of the aqueduct. Nemren, glad to be on solid ground, needed better references than Lord Kath. The house set him back five Florin and needed another for repairs. Phaeron knew just the man for the work. 

______________-------______________

Cal had a long sip of the pale Rosuldrië wine and wondered aloud, “Let me be sure of your intent; you purpose to travel up the coast to the Elvish Grey Havens and explore? And the King has granted you permission?

“Aye, but he does not control. That is still Elvish, even if they are said to be gone. I would not be surprised if there are sorcerous wards guarding the empty places.”

Captain Legorn Ivandred observed, “Pretty cruise, but why not just go with the King to Annúminas and ride over from there?”

“I considered that, my friend, but I do not know the coasts at all, and I may need to. I have other trips planned and ought to be a decent sailor.”

Cal shrugged, “I suppose we will learn of those the hard way too. I, for one, don’t have any trouble with this. There is a handful of captains who go as far as the Brandywine for Halfling leaf and fine iron craft from the Blue Mountain Dwarves. Lindon is not that much further; thought it is a world away in terms of the company one can expect.”

His grand-da in-law said, “If you know of a captain who would like to add bright coin to his cargo, I would like a word.”

Cal looked at his father and thought aloud, “Two come to mind. They will not go until next season so you have time to prepare.”

Captain Ivandred added helpfully, “Wear your hair back when you get there and hope those Elf eyes see your ears before they shoot.”

“I will, old friend, though I think the difficulty will be with the sailors learning of their further destination on the water. That; I must leave to the master.”

After Nag Kath moved-in and had things the way he wanted, Callistra recommended cook/housekeeper Miss Glynnys to stay the day making breakfast and dinner. A hard-earned forty, she was a tough bird but had a sense of humor. She knew fish.

The next evening, the Elf walked into the Marlinspike along the Working Harbor, not his usual sort of place. He took a stool at the bar next to a large man with tattoos on his neck and hands. Cal said to ask the barman for a Captain Quaille. A lass of not eighteen was serving so Nag Kath pivoted on his stool and surveyed the room.

The salty-dog next to him wondered, “Just in?”

“No, I’m looking for Quaille.”

“Tall fellow with a sliced ear?”

“Never met him. I was told he could help me with cargo.”

The sailor put two fingers in his mouth and whistled in the direction of four seamen playing Dukks. They all looked over but continued the hand. After a slapping his poor cards down, one rose and walked behind the bar laying his forearms on the planks. The tattooed man said, “He’s looking for Quaille.”

The barman looked the pale blonde over closely, “What’s that to you, young fellow?”

“I’d like to talk to him about a commission next season. He comes recommended.”

“Long time. He’ll be working from Pelargir to Osgiliath until the melts.”

“It will wait.”

The barman ran a business, “If he shows, I’ll see if I can remember to tell him.”

That produced a silver and a card. As Nag Kath finished his ale he said, “Part of that includes another mug for my friend, here.” The tattooed salt grinned broadly and tinked a fingernail against his empty.

______________-------______________

**The map Middle-earth or several of the original LOTR maps will help with this chapter.**

Nag Kath used his time to learn water. He had always owned a small sailboat for fishing in the bay. Phyll wouldn’t set foot in it. This time he bought a larger sailboat meant for two but could be managed by one in fair seas. Mostly he sailed around the White Harbor catching fish and drawing the island from a distance. When the swells were calm, he took the Wintern around the point trying to hook one of the prized yellow Odar. The third time he took someone who knew what he was doing.

There were things to do in town too. Uncle Nag chaperoned his young females at musical shows, plays and other wholesome entertainments. Sometimes those became less prim when he was coaxed out of his endless supply of stories. The children always thought them fantasy because how could such things happen in the world? Seeing the troll head stabilizing the jetty in Pelargir when visiting Uncle Shurran sowed seeds of honest doubt.

Callistra managed to find a few older females to accompany them. Nag Kath was polite, but not ready. It was too soon after Phyll and he had two trips in mind that might take years to complete, if he survived. Most days, the Elf hiked up to Cal’s to walk the flatter streets with Captain Ivandred. Eniecia came with them more than not. Cal worked long hours at the citadel so he got his exercise too.

______________-------______________

In early May, Glynnys answered a knock to reveal a tall, dark man in an oil slicker on the porch. He showed her Nag Kath’s card. Since he was expected around now, she showed him in and asked if he wanted tea. In unexpectedly cordial tones he said that would serve.

Quaille waited half a bell until the Elf returned from exploring the healer’s district. No one seemed to have replaced the powerful Mrs. Hürna. The Captain stood and the two shook hands. Spotting a prearranged sign, Glynnys remembered shopping and said she would be back about lunch. Nag Kath motioned for the Captain to retake his seat and helped himself to a mug of tea from the kettle.

Without preamble, Quaille started, “Marstairs said you’re looking to haul cargo.”

“Aye, nothing heavy. I was told you know the north.”

“I’m from the Gwathlö estuary. How heavy?”

“Just me. I need to go to the Gulf of Lhün, might be there two weeks.”

Quaille did his sums. The entrance to that waterway was less than a week’s travel from the Brandywine with the winds of the season, but that was a large harbor and he did not know it. No one did. Elves were said gone, so why bother since there was nothing to trade? Folk who had tried were repulsed by Elf wards like winds. The closer you got, the harder they blew. He had a sip and asked, “Just you?”

“And anything you want to get on the way back. That is your business. Tell me of your ship.”

“An older harrier, built more for speed than hauling grain down the Anduin. Crew of fifteen. That’s me, First and Second Mates, the rest on deck and a boy.” The Captain had another sip of tea and added, “I don’t suppose you know those waters? Elves have not been welcoming. Forgive me but you look a bit green for sail and hard harbors.”

Nag Kath pushed his hair behind his ear saying, “I might be able to convince them, if there are any left.”

Quaille leaned back on the couch and asked, “Did you miss your ship? The Blue Dwarves haven’t seen a swan leave in sixty years.”

“Different family. I’ll be coming back with you. There might be things there I can use. It is your business but we’ll need a steady crew.”

The Captain wouldn’t mind a look at those ports. If he had an Elf who spoke their tongue and could get past the sorcery, there might be things lying about that folk with fine tastes would appreciate here. It was time to ask, “Now, we are looking at an extra month out past the Brandywine berthage. I figure that runs to three Florin, making up what we don’t carry north.”

Nag Kath knew they wouldn’t take much of anything up. Ships got things there; wheat from the treacherous Gwathlö, Dunish barley from the Isen, Dwarvish and northern things from the Brandywine. Quaille would know he knew so Nag Kath said, “Two, in gold. Half here, half when we get back. Throw in another nipper if your crew needs convincing after we turn north from the Shire.”

“Done and done. We leave in three days. A good faith deposit is customary.”

Nag Kath pulled two nippers from his pocket and handed them to the mariner saying, “I will see you then, Captain Quaille.”

______________-------______________

The First Wife pulled anchor and eased her way into the outgoing channel of the White Harbor. First mate Forunhir smiled and was friendly but the rest of the crew avoided looking the Elf eye-to-eye. As he would learn later; taking a greenbottom on a long voyage was considered bad luck, not as bad as a woman, of course, but they thought it risked the displeasure of Sea-Vala Ulmo and his servants. Nag Kath reckoned he was strange enough on his own merits. It would not take long to show he had his uses.

The ship kept well away from the silt-deltas of the Ringlo and made for the rocky point off Lond Cobas. In these gentle waters, with enough breeze against to tack, they could keep moving at night by timing the turns. Like most small ships, deckhands dropped two lines with a half-dozen baited hooks at different depths, held well underwater by small stones. When the men weren’t working sail or rigging, one would pull the lines in on a winch to check for dinner. After several reels of stolen bait, they got two fair-sized red Odar and a pail of silver tullars. 

Nag Kath made another friend almost immediately when he gave the galley cook a supply of spices and herbs. They weren’t anything they couldn’t have bought in the market but sailors weren’t used to such amenities. Only a day or two out, the ship still had stores of vegetables and fruit. Meals would be reduced to hard biscuits and dried fish if the fresh ones weren’t biting. The Elf had a supply of Lembas stored in his cabin. 

The First Wife was organized a bit differently than a pure cargo run. Men stayed in both the hammock room and in the hold. Sailing at night meant men slept, or tried to, all hours of the day. Quaille and Forunhir showed Nag Kath how to steer by the stars and were helped by his vision. On cloudy nights, the crew knew to stay well away from the jagged shoreline. 

Strangely, in any weather the Elf could see the Star of Eärendil in the north, perhaps just because he knew where it would be. Samwise Gamgee wrote that Frodo took the Phial of Galadriel with him to the undying lands. It somehow converted the water of her fountain to shine with kindred light. Nag Kath had no doubt. That water could do great and powerful things. He had never kept any or drank it. 

After five uneventful days, they rounded the headlands to the Lefnui River mouth. It was a powerful river above a ridge of north/south mountains that kept water from reaching the western coast. The thin harbor stretched fully a day inland if needed. The outermost village was Feren Town. It had ale and meat if you had money. 

The crew was getting used to the tall blonde man. It was clear he had sailed before and could get up the rigging in a hurry. He was not used to the large, triangular sails which had to be rolled and released depending on the wind or that the booms could sweep a careless man overboard. Four days after Feren they reached the tip of Gondor, the point of Andrast where the Drúedain dwelt. Nag Kath kept that story to himself. Sailors are a superstitious bunch and dealings with the curious woodland creatures might be better told after they were well away from those shores.

Captain Quaille sailed half a day past the rocky outcropping before turning due north for the western river harbors. There would be little to eat on land. They caught enough fish not to need the dried meat but the little towns along the windward side of the Andrast Boot would not harvest the first summer vegetables for another month. The crew made the turn into the Bay of Lond Angren, supplied by the raging Isen, ready for a meal and an ale.

Quaille stayed an extra day to provision and repair a rip in the front sail needing removal. Navigating came first, but in lulls all hands had specialties like; sewing sails, rope making or splicing, woodwork and preparing meals. Nag Kath took his liberty to explore the town itself. This was the first natural harbor of the Great Belegaer Sea above Belfalas and the first river bringing goods from the heartland. It was too rough for larger barges but too convenient to ignore. Ships took more than they left behind. Being the slack season before the grain arrived, townsmen were glad of coppers from the few crews docked at the wharf.

The mouth of the Gwathlo (Greyflood) was only two days north and would have been sooner but for tricky winds. They had no reason to go, but Nag Kath arranged for the ship to dock so he could get a look at the wharves. This was just a funnel for the vast flows coming from Eriador, the sort that covered Tharbad every so often. The passenger told them of the homes on pilings that rose like docks. Quaille allowed the men a good night’s sleep after the strong barley drinks of Cardolan and they made their way back up the coast to the port of Annon Baran on the Brandywine. 

This was a less violent river than the Gwathlo below. If flowed from the King’s own Annúminas through the Shire and then meandered to a fair harbor protected from the strong northern swells. To the northwest was the Dwarvish enclave of the Blue Mountains. Erebor claimed lordship, but that did not carry much water with the local longbeards. Their metal-crafts made their way to Southern Gondor by way of traders like Quaille. The Elf financed a purchase of fine iron and steel goods, including a dozen dirks, to be collected on their way back. 

The crew knew it was not quite Halfling Leaf season so it was time to tell them why they were here. The Captain called all hands on deck and stood two steps on the stern-castle. In his master's-voice, “We are taking Mr. Kath into the Elvish bay to visit his people's home lands. We do not expect any trouble. He thinks we may be there a week but maybe more depending on what he finds. You will all receive at least an extra silver. If anyone has something to say, say it now.”

Bosun Thwaindil ventured, “Big place, Capt’n”

Quaille responded, “The Grey Havens, all the way in. We may stop at or near Harlond for water. The wind will be at our backs inward, in our faces coming back.

“Dildrans, Uvioras, keep the ballista close but not on the mounts. This is a friendly visit.”

Seaman Geriandloth said somewhat tersely, “Friendly? Those Elves ain’t known for laying out the viands.”

Nag Kath offered support, “I can speak to them. All of the great ships left years ago. If there are any Elves, they are not trying to leave. Everyone stays quiet but don’t smile, they don’t appreciate smiling. Watch for Dwarves on the south bank. I get along tolerably well with them too.”

Captain Quaille called, “Tide goes out two hours after dawn. Look sharp.”

Slightly into the wind from the west it took eight more days to round the Point of Harlindon into the Gulf of Lhún. Quaille did that at first light so the ship would not be silhouetted by the setting sun. There were no vessels in sight or anything interesting along the south bank. The north bank was twenty leagues away. 

______________-------______________

This was a purer natural harbor than even Dol Amroth, ripped from Beleriand in the wrath of Numenor. Strong sea swells would not penetrate far. For the first time on the trip, a light breeze was with them. The First Wife turned the bay leading to the Elvish town of Harlond and they set anchor several hundred paces off the old docks, not wanting to trespass if anyone in the grand old buildings took offense. A few figures did wander out to gawk. Nag Kath could see them clearly. They were men, no, there were Dwarves among them too, definitely not Elves. Their Elf told the crew to wave. Townsmen waved back and left a couple lads to watch. They had plenty of water in the casks and food but fresher food and friendly conversation seemed a good idea. A number of people scowled and would have nothing to do with the crew but a half dozen Dwarves shared ale and what they knew of the eastern bay. The next morning they continued east towards the Lhún river mouth.

That was as far as Seaman Bellandir and his brother Bellandath would go. They kept quiet when told of the trip but telling was not doing. This was an ominous place of the great and terrible. Both quietly took short-swords from the rack and tried to corner Nag Kath on the stern-castle.

Mate Forunhir yelled, “Stand down, you fools!”

Bellandath shouted back, “Nay, mate! This pretty thing isn’t getting us dead!” The two men closed on the seemingly unconcerned blonde greenbottom. Quaille heard the ruckus and stormed up from below hollering, “Bellandir! Stop now!”

Without turning his gaze from Nag Kath the sailor shouted, “Stay out of this. We did not sign-on for fell harbors.”

As the two crept forward, the cornered Elf lifted his hand. Bellandath was thrown off the deck and suspended in mid-air, head-down over the water. This was like his dunking of Shelturn but over water himself, Nag Kath was much more powerful. He drew from within as the Drúedain had shared. 

“Augahhhhh! Ngh! Brother, help me!”

The Elf told his brother, “Throw that weapon over the side.”

Bellandir did. The crew heard the Elf say in a voice of doom; “Do I drop him or bring him back? Choose quickly.”

“Aughhhh!” 

When his brother didn’t say anything, Nag Kath gave Bellandrath a refreshing dip in the bay.

“Bring him back, for pity’s sake!”

The changeling seemed to grow in size and darkness. In his echo Elf-Lord voice, “Do you understand there is nothing out there worse than me?”

“Yes, yes! Please, give my brother back.”

Bellandrath was gently deposited on deck sputtering and trying to blow the seawater out of his nose. Nag Kath glanced at the faces staring at him and calmly finished checking the fish reels on the transom.

That evening, Seaman Pellig, who had scarcely uttered a word to the Elf the whole way, said softly, “That was you slew the trolls in Pelargir. My grand-da was in the Marine Reserve stranded on the Old side of the bridge.”

“Aye, just one of them, though. Someone chipped my sword out of his forehead, same sword I carry now.”

Pellig said to the night, “That’s the half head on the jetty. My brothers said it would get me if I didn’t mind them.”

The rest of the men were trying not to breathe. Nag Kath thought a moment and smiled, “They didn’t need to put it face-out.”

______________-------______________

Mithlond, the Elvish Grey Havens, was still another fifty leagues from Harlond. The fair breeze held and some unknown but delicious fish took to the bait trailing the stern. Quaille brought in most of the sail as they drifted into the circular cove almost completely surrounded by inspiring buildings of the Elvish second age. 

There was nothing like this left in Middle-earth. The other great Elvish cities had been destroyed thousands of years ago in wars with Morgoth, Sauron or themselves. Rivendell had similar lines but was more natural, having been built into the mountain. Lorien had very little stone work, relying on the Mallorn trees for its magnificent scale. Perhaps the closest was Annúminas but with more angular, mannish lines. As the sailors were staring, Nag Kath edged quietly next to Bellandrath and asked, “Are you fine?”

The man startled but did not move. He and his brother could have been cast overboard by the Captain for their attack and did the dirtiest jobs in penance. But they were alive. “Cleaned my nose out good and proper.”

“No sudden movements in view of shore, mind?”

Bellandrath nodded.

Quaille had never once shown a trace of nerves. He piloted the ship inside the narrow gap of the harbor and stayed to the middle. Men felt a wind. Their clothes flagged, but the sails did not. Nag Kath shimmied up the center mast for a better look. The buildings were all so grand! It was hard to tell where the headquarters might have been. He decided on what could only be the shipwright’s ways. That was conveniently on the western side of the bay so the ship could get away from the wharf with wind. They docked at the stone jetty after setting the heavy, cloth bumpers. Men with long poles could cast off and push away fast.

Only Nag Kath disembarked. He went to a large open door and peered inside. With nothing to see he called in Sindarin, “Good day!” The furniture was still there but nothing else. By prearranged signal, Cabin-boy Athmandal was called to follow. He was a brave, curious lad, perfect for errands that did not involve brute force. 

They slowly picked their way along the first level of doors, barely above high tide. None showed any sign of writings, or much else. Nag Kath got the sense that men had helped themselves to everything the Elves didn’t take, somehow slipping past the dying wards of power. 

Looking up, there was a balcony on the second floor of the next building that was where Nag Kath would put his office if he was a Elvish shipmaster. He nodded upwards to Athmandal and they climbed the stone stairs. This room had been looted too, judging by the papers strewn around until rain stuck them to the floor. They were notes in Sindarin, lists of parts and sizes, and not in an elegant hand, either. These were written by workers on a schedule. 

Nag Kath was not really sure what he was looking for. This might take a while. The Elf and lad prowled the city for two days while the men nervously fished, repaired and helped themselves to a few items near the ship, always making sure they could leave on the shortest of notice. Against the off-chance there was a safe or hidden door, Nag Kath sketched Elrond’s storage locker so Athmandal could keep his eyes open. The lad was downstairs scouring a palatial gathering room while the Elf rummaged upstairs.

“Orc Six. Fancy meeting you here.”

How could they be so silent! “It is Mr. Norgarn, isn’t it? How nice to see you again.”

“Hughmmmpf. Are you looking for something?”

“I am at a loss for what. Shipbuilding and navigational charts, I suppose. Are you here alone, Mr. Norgarn?”

“With my wife and bairn. They are keeping out of sight. Your men are strange to them.”

Not all Elves could see them so Nag Kath asked, “Can they see you?”

“Of course, why else would we need to stay out of sight?”

“Forgive me. It seems others have been here first.”

The Elf-keeper said, “Hughmmmpf, ten years ago, men came in a ship. They did not find much.”

“Mr. Norgarn I have been looking for a safe like Lord Elrond’s, something hidden in the panels.”

“You are close. Come with me.”

As they walked downstairs past the ogling lad, Nag Kath jerked his head for him to follow. Two buildings further around the circle the keeper took them up two flights of stairs to another office. The papers scattered on this floor were drawings of beams and ship-ribs, measured in the twelve-count of old Elvish. 

Keeper Norgarn looked at the boy and asked in the common-speech, “Who are you?!”

“Athmandal, if it pleases you, sir.”

“Hughmmmmph.”

Three doors down, Nag Kath studied interior panels behind what would have been a drawing table. The seams revealed nothing. Neither did the carved stone frames. There was a cleft in the rock below it, though. He asked, “Mr. Norgarn, I don’t suppose you have a key?”

“No.”

“Any idea how I get this open?”

“No.”

If this was the same kind of stone as in Annúminas, it would take more than a couple Rohirrim with Dwarf sledges. “Mr. Norgarn, do you know what is in there?”

“Never looked.” All this was in Sindarin so the lad just watched. 

The Elf ran his fingers round the trim of one panel a few times and put his hands on his hips. Then he turned to Athmandal and asked, “Have you seen a big iron key in the last few days?”

The lad shifted his eyes across the room where a ring was hanging in plain sight above the fireplace. The gnome chortled and gave the cabin-boy one of his grimace-smiles before saying to himself in Sindarin, “Yrch!”

The fourth key of five clicked. Inside hinges were rusted tight but the door budged enough to wedge a candle-stand in the crease and pry it open. The Elves must have taken the contents. There was one book in the back stuck to the stone that had not come with whatever had been removed. Nag Kath borrowed Athmandal’s deck knife and slid it under the back cover until it grudgingly peeled up.

It was a bound volume, perhaps a eighteen inches square by fully two inches thick, with drawings of different ships and their component fittings. In the back was a folded drawing of Varda, Ainu of the stars, casting her hand to the heavens. Below her, Ulmo of the sea waited patiently, holding his hand in aid. Nag Kath would worry about that later and said to the Elf-keeper, “I know your policy but can I take this?”

“Certainly. That is not in our charge.”

“What is in your charge, Mr. Norgarn?”

“Other things. Will you be staying, Orc Six?”

“For dinner, providing you and the excellent Mrs. Norgarn have good stories and are willing to tolerate mine.”

“On the walk across from your ship, ‘timeless’ is written over the door. I am afraid your fellows cannot join us.”

Nag Kath and Athmandal took their treasure back to the Elf’s cabin. There were no caveats against telling the crew about their curious host so the lad held court over the tasty silver fish of the harbor while the Elf took his meal with the keepers. They arrived after Cirdan left and did not know anything about the shipbuilding here. Upon request, son Gimlach told the tale of Lúthien and Beren very well. Born in the late second age, neither of the older keepers met the doomed lovers. 

As much as Nag Kath would like to have explored every stone in the Grey Havens; this was not the time to test the patience of the crew, especially after Athmandal entertained them with reports of gnomes in stockings appearing from thin air. The Elf could return with the King someday to Annúminas and take his time. 

The First Wife had to wait in port on the Brandywine for eleven days until suitable leaf arrived. A few crates were as much as anyone got at one time so that and the Dwarvish ironworks would serve and might have even turned a profit without the Elf’s bonus. Getting home was much easier than getting here since the wind was usually no worse than abeam. 

Save a thorough wetting with a summer squall, they made good time and reached Dol Amroth in late August. Nag Kath gave Quaille four extra nippers for the crew bonus and future ‘consulting’ work before the man set sail for Pelargir to complete that end of the run. Nag Kath thought he had what he needed to proceed. Against that possibility, he retained Athmandal as his next Brenen. The lad got the spare room, the first time he had ever had a room. He got clothes too.


	2. The Greater Quest

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_The Greater Quest_ **

It was time to talk with his seafaring experts. After dinner, Cal, Legorn and the Elf commandeered the dining table. Nag Kath unrolled sheets of paper and put the hefty book on the table. They looked through the plans very closely for well over a bell. Legorn finally glanced at his son, “I should imagine your friends in the Naval Ministry would like a look at these.”

Cal asked gently, “These are Elvish designs?”

“Fresh from Cirdan’s safe.”

“Da’s dead right. I think we should speak to Minister Suvien first thing tomorrow, that is, if you mean this to be shared, Nag.”

“I need it shared …” he grinned “… thinly.”

“Mind sharing why?”

“I plan to build or buy one of these to sail to the Black Numenoreans in the fabled lands where the man of Mardruak went. That is my last clue from the Sorcerer of Rhûn. I’ll need the ship, crew, goods, information, all of it.”

Both sailors moved their lips in silence. They were used to bolts from the blue with their curious relative. He would have excellent reasons known only to himself. Legorn managed, “You'll need to put this together yourself ... mostly military men, I should think. Have you a captain in mind?”

The changeling replied, “Quaille is good, but glad of what he has. That’s why I’m telling you. You know sailors better than me. I am in no hurry. I don’t see leaving until next spring at the earliest. Cal, what kind of ship do I need?”

His grandson in-law thought a moment and said, “Nothing heavy … something like you took to Elvish waters. You will need speed over all else, but don’t get caught in dock or pinned against the shore.

Cal looked at his da again and back at Uncle Nag, “Does someone in Minas Tirith know about this?”

“Let us just say information is always appreciated.” 

Legorn was fascinated but kept quiet. Cal nodded slowly and said, “Join me at the eight-bell.”

______________-------______________

Minister Suvien was ten years younger than Caladrion. They had known each thirty years. Cal knew his opposite number would be in early today so he walked up to Suvien’s secretary and said, “Good morning, Wikelien. We need a word with the Captain.”

Wikelien knew the Minister of Foreign Affairs would not be here unless it was important. He rose, gave the taller blonde man a quick look and said, “Just a moment sir.” Very shortly after, the clerk walked out of the office door, “He is waiting, gentlemen.”

Suvien, like Cal, was a former Marine but he accepted a Captaincy with the navy when the big artillery platform ships were new. He rose from there and knew as much about the defense of Belfalas as any man alive. When his guests walked in, the fellow stood and shook hands. He had seen Cal only two days before so this was obviously something new. 

Caladrion said, “Thank you for taking time. We won’t be long. Elkard, this is Nag Kath. He has some pictures he would like to show you.”

The Minister waved them to a small table and Nag Kath unfurled his collection. Suvien went through every page in complete silence, only twice picking his head up to look at his guests. He could make no sense of the Sindarin notes or numbers but knew this was important. Nearly a bell later, he folded his half-spectacles into a vest pocket and asked, “Are these what I think they are?”

Nag Kath answered , “Plans for Elvish Lhün fleet. I believe the largest two are swan ships for the trip to Aman.”

Minister Suvien spent another ten minutes looking at those two again. Finally he said, “Mr. Kath, this is extraordinary. What is your fee for providing these to his Highness’ government?”

Perhaps the changeling wasn’t as well known as he thought. Cal was a bit surprised Suvien hadn’t heard of Kath of the name-your-place, though he hadn’t done anything outrageous in a generation. Suvien would squeeze the purse with both hands for those two capital ship plans. Nag Kath bargained hard, “I was thinking of four tickets to ‘The Reason We Try’.”

Not sure of his hearing, Suvien asked, “A Catanard?!”

“Oh, not just a Catanard. I understand Mehfiel himself returns to play Festous!”

Cal had to say something before he laughed out of his nose. “Elkard, Lord Kath does this for love of country.”

That still didn’t remove all of the shock. The Elf added, “I will redraw these to scale, translate the Elvish and change the measurements to our count. Elves use twelve rather than ten building their numbers.”

“Lord Kath? Troll Kath?”

“The same. Now, if you have a man who is good with design, that frees me for the calculations. I will try to get them to you within a month. Would that be satisfactory?”

Suvien breathed, “Quite. Cal, Lord Kath, thank you for coming by. I will be in touch.” Just like after hoodwinking the Sindarin library in Cal’s youth, they waited until they were well down the hall before laughter reigned.

The Elf returned with a red Odar for dinner to see a gentleman waiting in the main room. Fortunately, Athmandal knew guests did not need to be watched for light fingers. Where the lad was from, you paid attention.

Nag Kath waved off a handshake until after he could wash the fish off his hands and introduced himself. In return he heard, “Good morning, Lord Kath. I am Edelman Turembad. I work with Minister Suvein.”

“Ah yes. I see you have tea. Please, come sit here at the large table while I get the book.” The Elf sat beside him and slowly turned the pages saying, “I have some larger ones we found on the floor but this will give you a sense of the design. Are you an expert in ship-wrighting?”

“Expert might be generous, but I’ve learned a thing or two. Lately I work on a new harrier we will use off-Anduin to support our transport vessels.”

Nag Kath offered, “I am an engineer as well and offered to copy these for Prince and King. If you can do some of that work, it frees me to translate the notes. These were not drawn to scale. I'll change the Elvish dimensions to ours alongside in pencil for you to draft the renderings.”

The engineer nodded slowly and said, “Yes, I can do that. So I do not interfere with your household; I can make the drawings and return every few days for you to complete them.” Nag Kath sliced the binding thread to remove the smaller two ships for himself. The government man took half of the newly-bought paper and most of the volume with the intention of comparing their work in three days.

After he was gone, Athmandal asked, “You’re a Lord, sir?”

“Aye, a couple times over. I am nearly a hundred now with plenty of stories to while cold nights. What do you know about building ships?”

“Some. When you crew at sea, you ask at the docks. Men are always working on their craft. The better keel and rib wood comes from the Ringló. Plank wood is better up the Anduin. Pelargir or Ithilien make most of the metal bits.”

Lord Kath said, “I want you to keep your eyes on building. We need a ship.”

______________-------______________

The trip north was a test for exploration to the south, below the dry sands of Near Harad. There were said to be strange lands, too strange for a merchantman to justify such a long trip and of no interest to the Lords of Gondor. That left Nag Kath and his invitation from Orlo. He learned going north that the master commands. The changeling knew more than your average farmer, but the pilot of the ship made the rules on his vessel including who went and how they got there. 

First came the ship. Turembad returned with excellent work. He had a good eye. Nag Kath showed him perspective at different angles so men could see above and side renderings in a single sketch. That alone was worth the engineer’s time. The man worked on new drawings at the main table while Nag Kath added Westron notes and calculations to the homework. Many pages showed how a beam was spliced into a joint or other details needing no explanation. After a few hours, they thought two more sessions was time enough to complete the drafts.

Nag Kath dropped the hammer as Turembad was leaving, “Lieutenant, I would like a look at your new ship ... give me a feel for our work here.”

Those vessels would be built by a trusted wright away from prying eyes, but for the Lord who shared his trove for opera tickets, Turembad saw no difficulty. As he slipped the paperwork into a large folio the mariner said, “I am going there now.”

The Elf gave Athmandal a wink that he was going alone and followed the young officer to the far end of the War Harbor. The gate corporal stood at attention and never blinked at Turenbad’s guest. In the ways on the dry dock, a keel had been laid of bent and pinned strips of hardwood glued together with pitch and wrapped in rope to hold the lamination. Men off to one side were boiling pieces for ribs that would rest like wishbones along the spine.

Nearer the water was the same type of vessel being planked with smooth seams rather than the overlap of most cargo-craft. Once a plank was secured, men would caulk and pitch any gaps between the boards. They would construct the different compartments in the hold before adding the deck.

It was a Dwarvish racket of men pounding, yelling, cursing and stinking with supervisors walking about making changes or reminding the lads they were being paid. A few puffed fine paper tubes with the superb new pipe-weed newly arrived in the city. 

Leaving, the two stopped in the office. They were making government-contracted ships but the yard was the respected and private Stieffild and Yarlundar Shipwrights. Mr. Stieffild Junior, the oldest Stieffild living, was sitting behind a desk with a pipe of his own. Turembad introduced them. Old Junior was sixty if he was a day and had the skin of a Mûmikil from long years on sea or in the yard. His hands were as rough with two fingers missing on his right hand. Walking around the desk to shake hands he had a noticeable limp too, so his days on the water were long over. He was a very successful man. Nag Kath would buy him wine.

The Lieutenant’s office was only two buildings over so the two engineers parted with plans to meet. Nag Kath went home to write a letter in Sindarin;

****

**_Dear High King Elessar Telcontar,_ **

**_I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health. The trip to the Grey Havens yielded a number of ship plans locked away in a vault much like in Rivendell. Those are being copied now by an officer in the Prince’s service_ **

**_The city is deserted. An Elf-keeper told me a ship of men had looted what little was there ten years ago, though I did feel faint wards – that suggests the Eldar may still slip in and out, though I am not sure. Mithlond is still a grand place. If your Lordship has designs that way, no one will stop you. We shared ale with Dwarves in Harlond. Your contacts may know more of them from trading on the Brandywine._ **

**_I may stay here or abroad some time but am always at your service. NK_ **

Researching his trip meant Scholars. They were as haughty and proud as in Minas Tirith, with good reason. Archives here were treated deferentially, usually in private hands. With his resources, Nag Kath received introductions to collectors of the city. He sought information about the peoples south of the Southrons. He thought them ‘Black Numenoreans’. That wasn’t a color. These were exiles of the doomed island who retained their allegiance to Sauron. Dol Amroth was held by those Faithful to the Valar, driving the evil survivors further south as they became the Umbar and other clans. Long were they powerful enemies of northern men.

Cal had Ulvant Kastagorm for wine to introduce his vaguely-explained relative. Kastagorm was a celebrated collector of classic writings and a fair hand with Sindarin. He was no fool either. Nag Kath explained he wanted to know about the races inland and south of the desert Southrons. Kastagorm spoke in lecturer’s tones, “There is what I know, which is probably wrong, and there is what I think, which is probably also wrong. I will give you both.

“Legend has those lands settled by adherents of Ar-Pharazôn who was seduced by Sauron in Elf form. Known as the Kings-men, they settled here but lost in long, bloody combat to the Faithful of Ilúvatar. Driven across the river, they were the power behind Umbar, building cities like in the north which are said to survive to some extent even now. The Faithful eventually collapsed and Umbar was overrun by Swerting wildmen who live there still.

“My own thoughts are that the Black Folk survived further south, below the dusty inland where, is said, green forests grow again. Many years ago, a traveler of Mardruak sailed down there and returned with fantastic stories of beasts and colored birds and fruits that grow in all seasons. The Captain would have been accounted a hair-brain, but he brought back many unique things crafted in as fair a hand as ever made here and lived royally to a ripe old age.”

Nag Kath said, “I have heard that story from two other men, each in very different stations. Sir, should these King’s-Men still be there, what language would they likely speak?”

That was a perceptive question from the young White City scholar. Kastagorm considered it carefully and replied, “I speculate here. They would have originally spoken Adûnaic but likely changed to Sindarin during the sundering.” The Scholar in him came out, “Sindarin is a hard tongue, young man.”

“I read and speak it, along with some Quenya. I have read Adûniac but can’t claim to understand it very well. I also have good Variag, Haradric, some Rhûnic and Plainstongue. He left Black Speech and wargish out.

Kastagorm cried, “That calls for another goblet of Cal’s excellent pale! Young man, we shall get along famously!”

The changeling was beginning to feel self-conscious when mistaken for a young man. Early in life he was much younger than he looked. With Phylless he was as old as her. Now he felt of no real age. Dressed and groomed as a man his entire life in this; the age of men, no one would know.

Nag Kath came to the next monthly meeting of wealthy collectors and Scholars of the old days. There were eight this afternoon, mostly the cream of the Dúnedain, so their association with the stout, bald Kastagorm showed he was a force in the making sense of their past. The past mattered a great deal here.

Nag Kath suggested that his purpose should not be widely known. Kastagorm would be discreet, opening with, “Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath who I have invited because he is interested in ancestors before the Kin-strife along the coast of Harad. Please welcome him and share your thoughts.”

Acknowledgement ranged from smiles to indifference. He was a handsome specimen of fine bloodlines which counted for something. He also listened and drank lightly; something young people seldom did anymore. Despite a few doomed attempts by Kastagorm to steer the conversation south, the dominant topic was the works of Inbraien, largely confined to ten years on either side of Third Age 1566. Halfers! Nag Kath had never heard of the man but paid attention. He was immortal. He had time. 

Another man who said little was Scholar Opher who had a bit more eastern blood than the pale greater-men in the room. Like Tallazh, there was no trace of it in his Westron. Nag Kath would ask him an innocent question when they adjourned.

The Elf shook hands with those who didn’t flee for the door. As Opher gathered his notes off the table, he was approached and thanked for his courtesy. The Scholar smiled and said it was a pleasure. As if an afterthought, Nag Kath said, “Oh, I should have asked. I would like my servant to learn reading. Can you recommend a tutor? I live above the Commercial Harbor if that matters.”

“I think so, Mr. Kath. Do you have a card?”

Nag Kath gave him one of several, this one with his address but no title. Opher considered it, “You have a fair hand, sir, more elegant than a purely western script.” The man raised the pitch of the last word, making it almost a question.

“That, sir, is a long story. Perhaps you will share a meal with me to justify your time.”

“Gladly. I will be in touch.”

In the meantime, Lieutenant Turembad returned with the rest of the renderings. Nag Kath translated the notes into the common-speech and finished the calculations turning the Elvish twelve count into the mortal ten. He would let the administration sort through those before speaking with the shipwright.

It took another week but the Elf received a note inviting him to dinner at Mr. Opher’s home three days hence along with the name of a tutor who lived near the docks. Nag Kath had Athmandal, which everyone shortened to Dal, take his acceptance up to the scholar’s house so he could explain where it was. Then Dal was to report to Tutor Fulgreave’s lodgings with a silver for a course in reading and writing.

Fulgreave only taught at his home. Athmandal would have to go there for two hours, three times a week to study with considerably younger students. He could have been embarrassed but his ability to tell rollicking tales of the seas more than compensated for late-life learning. New clothes and no visible tattoos helped.

Opher had done well for himself. Teaching obscure subjects to disaffected youth had not built this home. A liveried servant showed him to a private office where the amateur scholar was seated on the couch. Opher looked up and said, “Ah, right on time. Please, join me.”

Nag Kath sat in the tallest chair while Opher wrote something in his notebook and set it aside. “Thank you for coming. Kastagorm was unusually remiss in your history, young sir.”

There would be no evading this man other than walking out the way he came. Nag Kath needed friends. “By design sir. I am the last Elvish sorcerer in Middle-earth. My care has been destroying the remnants of Sauron’s allies.”

“So, Kath of the Water and Trolls?”

“You are well informed, sir.”

Opher opened his notebook to show a small symbol of Orlo inked on the inside cover. “And Kath of the Nûrnen too?”

The Elf started quietly, “I met Orlo during Gelansor in the year 30. He gave me the key to discovering the trolls.”

Opher was still as the grave. Nag Kath continued. “The sorcerer left me this coin which took me years to find. It survives from what is now Gondor as the King’s-men were pushed south to where is rumored a great gulf lies south of the sands. 

“I purpose to travel there, but would rather sail into as few surprises as possible.”

The Scholar gave the coin a close look, “Then I may be of some service. Come, let us dine. My family knows little of my outside interests. For tonight you are a distinguished adept of …”

“Khandian?”

“On the tip of my tongue.”

Opher might be fifty. His wife was definitely of western bloods. His son and daughter were introduced but had plans to dine with neighbors, probably no coincidence. Unwhieila, shortened to Eila at birth, was well on her way to matronly proportions with a nice smile and intelligent eyes. During the meal she asked a pair of questions Opher had planted earlier. Her husband now knew the answers and turned the subjects back to current events.

Nag Kath was not as forgotten as he thought. He would have to get his host’s background another time. All in all, he felt his team was falling into place.

A few days later, a courier brought an envelope and dashed off when it left his hand. Six seats near the Prince’s box had been reserved in his name for the upcoming Catanard season at the pavilion. The grin! He had been jesting to let Minister Suvein know he did not need payment for his duty. The man now knew that, but good deeds are rewarded by noble Lords nonetheless. 

Now, he had to put backsides in those seats for the five performances. Divided in mannish, Elvish or Khandian counting, six means three couples and he was loudly alone. Eniecia hinted her daughter Callistra was a worthy successor to Talereth in meddling and matchmaking, as an amateur, of course. Now the woman would be up late conniving to introduce suitable females. Nag Kath would not protest overmuch.

At dinner the next night, Cal slapped his knee extending the laugh leaving Suvien’s office. The tragedy ‘As Father Wished” was playing in four nights so Captain Ivandred deputized as Nag Kath’s date. Cal and Eniecia had the middle places on the bench. Callistra and her husband Phaeron would get last two and only increase the pressure to produce a fashionable widow by ‘The Reason We Try’.

Other projects unfolded. Athmandal was progressing in his reading but told by his teacher privately that his sea lore was too salty for the privileged ears in the room. Nag Kath wasn’t sure what to do with him so Dal had lots of time to practice his lessons. Opher was also in touch. They spent several hours going over the darkness known and supposed of the Black Numenoreans. A bad lot but, as the Uruk could attest; sometimes the chief made the wrong choice and everyone else paid the price. At least he could talk to them. 

______________-------______________

Militia season was nigh. Nag Kath applied for and was quickly moved to the top of the list for training on the new harrier-class support ships. It was ten feet longer longer and two wider abeam than the First Wife, but the same ilk. These craft did not have boarding ramps or extended prows for ramming enemies below the waterline. They were fast, used only wind and were not for hauling seasick soldiers to and from land attacks. In the right situation, they drove pirates towards the artillery vessels or kept them from escaping. He was one of twenty-three militia crew, not including the Captain/Pilot with First and Second Officers. 

Acting First Officer Fendirand didn’t like him. First Officer was a necessary step for ambitious sailors. From there you made Captain on this size vessel and might be promoted to First Officer on a capital ship, the next stage before full Captaincy. Loafing rich-boys jeopardized those chances. The tall blonde bypassed stronger candidates when someone in the palace pulled strings. 

Even obeying dutifully and keeping his mouth shut, it was bound to happen; “Kath, why is that rope not coiled?”

“I was told to wind the winch, sir.”

“Did I tell you to wind the winch?”

“No sir.”

“You do what **I** tell you.”

First Officer Fendirand was on shaky ground. Second Officer had given the beardless blonde sailor a legitimate order in hearing of experienced hands. A lowly seaman would have nowhere to hide but had the sponsored trainee whined, it could put the Capt’n in a tight spot. The Elf said, “Aye, sir” and coiled the rope. It did not satisfy the First, but everyone else in earshot knew he showed true colors.

They docked in plenty of time for the Catanard. Cleaned and presentable, Cal and Nag Kath walked and let Eniecia and Legorn share a man-cart also reserved for the trip home. The Librons were already there, chatting with old friends just behind them. The word must have already spread that the mysterious blonde stranger was unattached. Eyelashes fluttered. He smiled.

It being the first show of the season, one of the hands pushed a backdrop off the stage but the singers soldiered on in the tale of an arrogant man controlling his family. The audience knew it well. How they felt afterwards depended on who played the man’s doomed ward. She was good, but not great, so no one left the pavilion overly miserable. Wine was found across the street with everyone tucked in bed by the ten-bell.

Back onboard at eight, this was the deck archery day with additional trainees joining the crew behind the shields. Nag Kath had done this forty years ago, albeit on a larger ship. He brought his Northman bow and an assortment of arrows. Captain Penandoth walked the deck making sure the archers were spaced correctly behind the fixed shields with good footing. Most men used the bows provided on the ship but a few had their own. 

The target was a stack of straw bales on a wharf about thirty paces away. Still in the harbor, the ship wasn’t rocking much. With only three days left in training, the officers wanted to get this over. A group of eight men fired thrice in unison. Then a second group took their place. Better than half of the arrows hit the straw. Nag Kath planned to use the same Dol Amroth arrows as everyone else and no one could really tell who shot which.

First Officer Fendirand must have had a loveless night. Trying to look important to an experience Captain, he walked behind the Elf and barked, “That is not a regulation bow, seaman.”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

This charade had gone on long enough. Lord Kath said in his Lordly voice, “Because they are inaccurate, sir”

Captain Penandoth had had enough of his training Lieutenant as well. Before the tall seaman tossed his loaned-First over the rail, the Captain said loudly, “Sounds like a challenge. My money is on the Lieutenant!”

Regular deck hands couldn’t have bet twenty groats but the selected civilian trainees had nearly a nipper straddling the match. Penandoth said in his quarter-deck voice, “What’s your name again, seaman.”

“Kath, sir.”

“Kath, I want you to put three arrows in those bales.”

“Which one, sir?”

So he wanted to be snotty too! Very well, “Second from the left, third from the top."

The Elf wheeled and put three of his game arrows within a foot of each other just slowly enough for the men to see him nock and pull.

First Officer was trapped. He was a fair archer but out of practice. Stringing his Navy-issue bow, he put all three arrows in the bales but with two on one edge and one six feet away, and not nearly as deep. 

Nag Kath seized the initiative, “I am sorry Captain. It seems we have drawn.”

Penandoth took the offered escape, “Very well. Next group, up and ready!”

After they were dismissed, Nag Kath stayed on board a bit longer to gather his weapons. Captain said from behind him, “Good enough for troll eyes, Lord Kath.”

The Elf turned and answered, “Sorry to make your man look bad.”

“He’s not mine, and better than a sword in his forehead.”

“He is not our enemy. I have a fair idea about that.”

“What brought you here then?”

“I need a ship this size and want to know who does what.” He thought a moment, “That may need to stay between us, sir.”

“You are the ‘sir’, My Lord. I think Fendirand can do without you for the next two days.”

Nag Kath thought a moment and asked, “Also between us; are you committed to a long career in naval service?”

Penandoth held his chin, “We should talk about that.”

______________-------______________

It was time for Nag Kath to take stock. To visit the mythical great gulf a thousand leagues south he needed to acquire a ship, captain, crew, any maps or reference material that could be had and experience. He already had time, money, no local obligations, a shipbuilder, excellent advisors and a compelling reason to go, not to mention a cabin-boy. Nag Kath also had power, especially over or near water. Hoisting that seaman by his ankle over the wake was almost too easy.

“So you intend to go through with it?” Cal poured three cups of the pale North Belfalas wine in front of the Elf, his da and himself. 

“Oh yes. I enjoy a mystery.”

Old Legorn observed wryly, “Your grand-daughter will not care for this.”

Nag Kath grinned, “She is in good hands if orphaned. Now, what does one of those harriers cost?”

Cal replied, “I asked. On the order of thirty Florin, give or take fittings. In your case I should think take since you won’t need shield placements or a boarding castle. Keep the ballista mounts though.”

Legorn asked, “Will you carry any cargo at all?”

“Probably, sir. We will be welcomed more warmly with things to trade and may come across things wanted up here, nothing heavy, mind. 

Cal said, “You have already looked at the ship. Keep her fast. We must consider what people there need. Money buys anything here but they might have Dwarves on a pile of gold. Crafts and finery for the gentry won’t take much room.”

Legorn was practical, “Get on the list. You did Minister Suvien a favor, but he will soon make his fancy boats and the Prince’s order will come first at the ship-ways.”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “A good thing, perhaps. I am not in a hurry. It might be good for them to build one or two and I slip in after they make their mistakes. I made a point of meeting Mr. Stieffild. He seems a man who can, shall we say, prioritize. I will pay him another visit.”

Legorn grinned, “I don’t suppose you need an experienced mate?”

Nag Kath smiled warmly and put his hand on the elderly hero's shoulder, “In a heartbeat, my friend. You are the great Bilbo, always ready for a new adventure!”

“Oh yes, I would go. How long will you be out?”

Cal wanted to hear this too. The Elf answered slowly, “A year at least, but I do not honestly know. I may travel deep inside. Hopefully the ship waits or I have a long swim. We will have little sense of the winds and weather. There might be nothing to see. All I have is a coin with dots punched around the back.” He added seriously, “What do you know of a Captain Penandoth?”

His grandson sipped and replied, “An up-and-comer, but no family to grease the ways. He has impressed?”

“We will have an ale after militia.”

Cal said, “I will keep an ear open.” More soberly, “Father is right. And my wife will not be pleased at you going to uncharted lands.”

“Then there will be all the more joy in welcoming me back. She will have plenty of me beforehand. I am no shipwright, but I cannot see leaving before next spring unless a harrier appears from a Dwarf-hole.”

Cal changed the subject slightly, “Oh, and speaking of idle time, I think Callistra has found you a guest for ‘The Reason We Try’.” He grinned.

“Do you mean to say my dear companion Legorn here has to sing by his lonesome?”

Cal put his hand on his father’s knee saying, “We’ll find da a ticket, maybe two if Calli has a likely lass for him.”

Legorn was pleased, “Good! I prefer the comedies.”

Cal said more sternly, “Neither of you heard that from me or I will be roasted over coals. Act surprised and gracious, Orc Six!”

Uncle Nag did. With just the Ivandreds at dinner, Eniecia said as if trying to sound like there was nothing less substantial in the world, “Caladrion, Calli has asked her friend Earmina to join us for the play.”

In proper husbandly fashion he replied, “Lovely. I hope the weather is fair.”

That was the end of it. Two season seats behind theirs were purchased for an exorbitant but undisclosed sum. That was what money was for. In the household comedy production, Eniecia must have explained Uncle Nag’s long and consistent taste in females to her daughter, less one unrequited admirer. Earmina Pfennick was widowed not quite two years ago when her husband washed up on the rocks after fishing. Since he didn’t fish, and it was soon learned his business was late on payments, everyone assumed he took a long walk off a short pier. Mina’s parents took her back and she was emerging into society again after the long mourning customs of the Dúnedain. 

Other than her being a widow, none of that was mentioned to Uncle Nag. Damaged goods newly back on the market were Nag Kath’s specialty. Since she was billed as Phaeron and Callista’s guest, they brought her from her parent’s home to the pavilion and met the Ivandreds at their seats. 

Mina was lovely. She was not the model of the Elf’s women, being only of average height. Her hair was almost raven and worn up for the gala. She reminded him of a smaller Queen Tilli. It helped that on her way through the crowd, people said how glad they were to see her again. If anyone looked down their noses, she didn’t notice. That gave her confidence at this; her first outing since poor Waltram’s swim. By the strangest happenstance, Earmina and Nag Kath got the two new seats together. She bowed, he being a Lord, and they took their places as the musicians tuned-up. 

Catanard audiences in the Dol Amroth pavilion are a knowledgeable bunch. ‘The Reason We Try’ was only about thirty years old, so it had flourished at its debut but wasn’t yet a tradition. Its claim to fame was the tenor’s lament in the second act that could stand alone, and often did, for solo performances. The man who could please this crowd was acclaimed. And with a happy ending, the play was popular with couples who had romance in mind afterwards.

Mina kept a set smile and watched closely. She was not a devoted Cantanaräe but knew the form. Her hands were in white lace gloves and she kept them folded when lustier patrons hooted and hissed the villains. She would hold them to her cheeks in moments of tension. Her blind-date figured her for thirty. He had no idea what she knew of him, probably little if she agreed to come. It was also possible she had no clue this pairing was concocted by females who had learned from the best.

At the finale, everyone lived and either found true love or perdition for their schemes. As surely as this chance meeting was planned, there would be something to follow. The party had reservations at the Lion’s Beard just across the street and filed-in with well-heeled patrons. Light fare was already prepared with wine or ale waiting in pitchers.

Mina ventured a conversation, “Did you enjoy the play, Lord Kath?”

“Yes, I did. Please, Nag Kath is more than enough name for a lucky fellow.”

“Very well. Do you sing yourself, Nag Kath?”

“Only one note. Now Caladrion and Legorn here; they can cover the range better than most.”

Son-in-law Phaeron took that opening, “Oh yes. They can do the top and bottom of ‘Merrily I Wait for Her’ in fine fashion.”

That was an invitation if ever old Legorn had heard one. Since the song started with the baritone, the Captain began before his diplomatic son could object. Young Cal was doomed, as intended, and came in along with half the patrons who knew the song by heart. Mugs were hoisted afterwards and a fair tone was set across the room.

Mina did not drink more than her first cup. She kept her smile throughout and listened carefully to the conversation, sliding in comments when there was an opening. After an hour, Phaeron and Callistra offered to escort her home rather than leave the widow to Uncle Nag’s tender mercies. The proper lady thanked her hosts for a lovely evening and was gone with slightly more sway in her walk.

Eniecia announced, “Good. Da, let us call our man-cart and be off.” Nag Kath walked outside and whistled it up from the queue. Fifteen minutes later, Eniecia took her tired father-in-law to his bed and rejoined Cal and the Elf in the main room. Still early, Miss Jarvus was ready with tea.

Eniecia looked at her grand-da and demanded, “Well …?”

“I had a splendid time, my dear. Thank you for thinking of me.” It was the most infuriating answer possible; too vague for information and too polite to be questioned. The deeper reason was that he was planning, perhaps unbeknownst to his grand-daughter, a mad voyage to the end of beyond after sitting next to a fair lady who wore lace gloves. Even authors of imaginary lore would never think of that. She was exquisite. Maybe someone would squelch whatever interest she might have by mentioning Orthanc.

Cal intervened, “Interesting that Prince Alphros hasn’t been to either production.” The Princely box was only ten seats away from theirs. At both operas, the places had been taken by his younger daughter’s or Chancellor Fulnorran’s families. 

Nag Kath said softly, “Child, do you remember doing your water blossom dance for him and his father all those short years ago?”

She replied very tenderly, “I remember that more than anything else I have ever done, dear husband and grand-da.” To break the tension she added, “I was ready to rend you and my gloating brother with my teeth until I realized you had given me everything I ever wanted.” She reached over to hold Caladrion’s hand.

Tenderness over; “Now, Orc Six. What of Mina?”

“She is very fair. I will inquire after her in due course.”

Cal knew that meant after he put the down payment on his ship. Eniecia deserved to know so he cleared his throat and started to say, “My love, your grand-da and I have been involved in the most terrible conspiracy to …”

“… to have him sail off the edge of the world.” She looked at them both. “What else is he to do? Nag, you are so sweet to love us mortals. Granna was right. You could never be a dark lord. Go with our blessings and come back safe to more stories and music.”

She rose, kissed her speechless husband on the forehead and said goodnight. Before reaching the hall, their water blossom turned to say, “But since you are here; Callistra told me Mina adores lore of great heroes. Be kind to her.”

**_Dear Mrs. Pfinnick,_ **

**_Thank you for joining us at the Catanard. Your presence made the evening. I would be honored if you could join us for ‘The Mayor’s Niece’ playing in three weeks time._**

**_Please let me know of your decision and I hope to see you again, NK_ **

He wasn’t sure if that was wise. They were both in their mourning period, as these long-lived Dúnedains measured time. Perhaps that would keep her from thinking he had longer-term objectives. In the courtly reaches of Dol Amroth, there were few whirlwind romances. He loved the company of women for all occasions but had a long, dangerous voyage planned.


	3. Pieces Great and Small

**_Chapter 3_ **

**_Pieces Great and Small_ **

At Ulmo’s Locker; “Good to see you, Lord Kath.”

“If we can put aside ‘Lord’ and ‘Captain’, the conversation will be shorter.”

“My first name is Ronalt.”

The Elf asked, “How much do you know about me, Ronalt?”

“Some. It seems it was your idea to put longbows on our ships before I was born. Little wonder. How old are you?”

“Ninety one. The same age as Prince Alphros.”

“Twas really you put the arrow in the eye of the troll?”

“The second. A Marine got the first. I was not as clever with the other troll.”

Captain Penandoth refilled his goblet and took a small sip as if to say something but held his peace. Nag Kath filled the space by saying, “I told you I need a ship like yours. I intend to sail below Harad for the great gulf said to go hundreds of leagues inland. I can pull ropes and don’t puke in rough water, but that does not make me a pilot.”

Penandoth considered that a moment and said, “That is not my ship. The Helenndor is my vessel. I wanted a look at the new design. What you suggest is … an adventure?”

“Research only I can do. My last such endeavor lost men. Others have gone better.”

“Dorwinion?”

“There, Dale, don’t forget Mordor.”

Penandoth sipped and positioned himself, “Not a lot to interest a rising naval warrior.”

It was time for the changeling to flip one of his Dukks cards. “Ronalt, you will run out of uncles and princes up the hill just as my son-in-law Legorn Ivandred did.”

The Elf took a sip and leaned forward, “I seek a man who does this, and does it right, then never has to work again. By that I mean money up front and more on the back. If you are interested, I need a counselor to build the boat, crew it, all of it. We will take light goods with us and bring some back, but my purpose is to destroy residual evil of the dark lords. I intend to place the order for the ship with Stieffild before the month is out.”

Nag Kath turned over another card, “Three Florin before we leave. Half the cargo or ten Florin when we return, whichever is greater. I will put the latter in trust before we go in the event you return and I do not.” He took two nippers out of his vest pocket and placed the stack on the table saying, “Pick those up carefully.” 

The Elf’s perception about Penandoth’s chances for promotion hit home. With no worthwhile wars, Captaincies for the capital ships went to Lords and Lords’ sons. If he took the half-Florin, he was the Elf’s man. The card Nag Kath did not know he had was that Penandoth’s lovely Clarissus was a wife better suited for passionate reunions than everyday life during long stints in dock. Last night she gave her Capt’n an earful over some niggling chore rather than enjoying her marital pleasure. That happened often lately. At thirty-six, the Captain did not feel past such things. 

The Captain stared at the dented Kings before putting them in his pocket. His employer stood and said, “No need to share this with the Admiralty just yet. Here is my address. If you are free tomorrow morning, I have some interesting drawings to show you.”

Miss Glynnys made as good a porridge as could be, but Nag Kath never ate it more than four times a week. The local nuppers helped and he could afford eggs brought from the mainland. His breakfasts were still cheaper than Nemren’s, which had to be carted over the same causeway. 

Penandoth arrived as Glynnys was cleaning the kitchen leaving Nag Kath and Athmandal stabbing at their bowls not really wanting to eat any more. The sailors were introduced. Since this was the only table downstairs, the lad cleared it and retook his chair while the Elf rolled out a series of drawings. Cook brought the Captain tea.

Nag Kath said, “These are the plans for the new harrier. Don’t ask me where I got them.” He showed the side, front and top-down compartments in the first three pages. “Now these are from Elvish ships of about the same size I got up north.” The Elf flipped through the rebound volume and some of the larger sheets Athmandal gathered from the floor in Mithlond.

Nag Kath continued, “I see a ship using some of both, very fast but built more for comfort than grain.”

Penandoth shook his head, “No pig-boat; this. The Ministry would dearly like to see these.”

“They have. That is why I want to slide my contract in before the rush. Other shipwrights would serve, but those harriers are now proven. Dal, what tidings?”

“Thommi said Lieutenant Turembad is much about lately, but kicking the planks. The wright said they do that while the palace negotiates.” The Captain agreed.

Nag Kath got down to cases; “Gentlemen, it is time to put a deposit down. Captain …,” he kept it formal since Athmandal would be subordinate at sea, “… I think it best you keep to your official duties until this is more than smoke, but I hope you will study these drawings.”

The Elf twigged his teeth walking to the shipyard and asked to see Mr. Stieffild. The woman who kept salesmen at bay remembered him, as women often did, and said the old wright was at the water’s edge but should be back presently. Stieffild ambled back about fifteen minutes later to see the tall, blonde had returned, alone this time.

“What can I do for you young man?”

“I would like a few minutes of your time to talk about having work done, sir.”

The wright looked at his clerk and asked, “When does Urath get here?”

“He is delayed until tomorrow, Mr. Stieffild. First thing, he thinks.”

Back to Nag Kath; “Come in.”

Nag Kath shut the door behind him. The office had a large pane-window looking into the interior of the covered part of the yard. The shipworks was open on the sides thanks to the mild weather of Dol Amroth but had a roof for work better done out of the rain. Stieffild stood looking out for a moment so the Elf remained standing too. The old wright sat at his desk and started cleaning his pipe. Knowing it would take a while he motioned for his guest to be seated. Unlike Gandalf, the man spoke as he filled a new bowl, “Tell me what is on your mind.”

“I would like you to build me a ship, something akin to the harriers you make now.”

Stieffild lit his pipe and shook the match out with his three good fingers. A satisfying puff later he said, “That is a lot of money, young man. Have you got it?”

“Yes.”

“And it is likely we will be busy soon. The Navy is working on changes for the line.”

“I know. I drew the plans. I was hoping you could finish mine in the summer, after you have had a chance to test the design.”

If the shipwright was surprised, he didn’t show it. Another pleasing puff later, he would see the blonde’s coin. “The base ship is thirty Florin. Whatever else you want stacks on that. We require one in five parts as a deposit. That’s ours if you change your mind. You get it back if we cannot deliver. Things happen, if you take my meaning.”

Nag Kath knew their terms before he came. Nodding, he said, “That is fair. If your folk will prepare the contract, I will return tomorrow morning with six Florin. Now, I will have some changes, and don’t intend them to be difficult or expensive. I will get those to you in good time. When do you think you will lay the keel?”

Stieffild had to light his pipe again before saying, “February, first part of March. You understand I work for less than sympathetic folk?”

“Don’t we all, Mr. Stieffild.”

______________-------______________

In the meantime, Opher proposed wine at The Quill with another friend who had not attended the Scholars meeting. The Quill was a watering-hole for academics with coin. The food was edible and the wine better. Their waiter was an energetic young man who needed the work but also sought readers for his saucy romance books. It seemed ladies rented chapters by the week with a healthy deposit against keeping it. The Elf suspected these works bordered on topics the Prince’s Arbiters might find inappropriate.

Opher’s friend was Khandrash, a Southron with an unintentionally Variag name. Khandrash had been an employee of the Prince’s administration in the interior counties for his entire career but was born in Dibis on the northern side of the peninsula enclosing Umbar to the south. His father, a learned man of the Dhuur clan, was encouraged to move north after refusing to acknowledge the suzerainty of tribal lord Randsie. By the time they made it to Pelargir, someone put a knife through Randsie’s eye. That news didn’t arrive until his da had a job at a winery that paid much better than anything he could return to.

One thing led to another and his da, mother, brother and he worked their way into the heartland of Belfalas. Da stayed in the wine business and Ubier Khandrash eventually became the supervisor of roads connecting market towns in the prosperous Principality counties of Eregost and Mithrast. His lads kept them smooth and fixed the holes. When he retired, he devoted himself to his beloved learning, including tales of the homeland he had never since visited.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Khandrash.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Kath.” His accent was almost too faint to discern.

Khandrash took a bite of the chicken before it dried and said, “Mr. Opher told me of your interest in southern lands and thought I could assist.”

“It was kind of you to come, sir. And yes, I purpose to visit the far coast where it is said the dry lands end.”

“Ah, Mr. Kath. That is much further than I ever went. I fear I can tell you nothing of the roads or distance.”

Nag Kath responded, “In truth, sir, I am more interested in the people I might meet. I know quite a bit about men close to the Gondor border and spent considerable time with several Mûmakil crews working construction projects.”

“My! Those beasts come from much further south than my humble beginnings also. My father was a wise man who learned and taught lore of the region. In his youth, he listened to the old men who survived the dark days. They said the huge creatures came from the rivers flowing into the Umbar gulf from the south. 

“Sauron’s minions went there to demand tribute from the Lords. For reasons only known to them, they were placed in the service of the fierce Chelkar allies from the Khandian rim. Many of them were slain with their handlers in Gondor. Since then, the two peoples will have nothing to do with each other.”

The Elf started a prepared exchange, “I am sorry, Mr. Opher. I did not mean to exclude you. Do either of you gentlemen know of the Black Numenoreans?”

Opher answered the planted question, “The Faithless; said to favor Sauron over the Valar to the doom of their island. The Faithful drove them south and were themselves replaced by fierce Haradrim. I cannot speak to those further down.”

Khandrash continued, “Perhaps I can. Grandfather said in the dark days, servants of Mordor traveled there to demand aid. Some were said to speak through the wind. Terrible wars among factions yet again divided the dark ones and those who had reclaimed their faith, even though it was long since any of them knew what that meant. Some came here in fealty to Sauron while others refused."

Nag Kath took a sheet of Fûl on one side and Orlo on the other and asked, “Have you ever seen either of these?”

The right-living Scholar knew them both and played his role, “I know Fûl, but only from the works in your life, Mr. Kath.”

Khandrash nodded in agreement but looked longer at the right-living symbol. The Elf and Opher watched closely for a reaction. Tapping his temple with his finger the Southron stammered, “Forgive my failing memory. I left Harad when I was eight but that reminds me of the glyph the houlars used to show their trade.” He looked at Opher, “Houlars, yes? Women who used herbs and ointments to heal hurts and illness. The only reason I recall is that men whipped my father to leave and he was later tended by an old crone of that symbol. I could be completely wrong, but that was my first impression and I have learned to trust them.”

“Mr. Khandrash, do you recall if any of the men who attacked your father had red collars?”

“Schieal! I do not know. Mother hid us away. Father later said they were foot-sore for being sent all the way from Isgar. They gave him the lightest of beatings with little malice and were more concerned with stealing the grain bucket. He only accepted the ministrations of the Hoular woman because she walked long from Hito and was of good family.”

Nag Kath held his chin and smiled. Orlo, you crafty old devil! Did you create weak female sorcerers to further your cause? Did some turn independent and follow dark humors? Perhaps they merely absorbed orphaned humors after the ring.

Nag Kath apologized for taking and offering nothing in return. The Scholars were not offended. Opher said, “Please, Mr. Kath, some of us are resigned to remembering. Some of us create. In our small way, lore lives on through those like you. When we meet again, perhaps you will tell us other things we should remember."

Nag Kath needed some Righters on his ship. Dol Amroth was not a hotbed of them. They tended not to pursue affluence and Dol Amroth liked its comforts. The difficulty in getting all right-living folk was; one needed experienced sailors for the kind of trip he had in mind. The sea could be a cruel mistress with no malice aforethought. Sailors might not see the same need for sacrifice. He sent word to a man who knew a man in Osgiliath. In the meantime, Dal was woefully under-employed. That would change when the Captain officially resigned. Barahir was rumored coming here. He was building a ship, oh, and an attractive woman might be interested. 

______________-------______________

Things got slightly less complicated with another domestic squabble between Penandoth and cherished Clarissus. He gave her one of the nippers for the household shopping, far more than enough to include a large jug of barley spirits. Deep in her cups, the woman gripped the change from her liquor and cursed her husband blue for all manner of imagined faults, finally screaming, “Had I a Florin, I would be shot of you!”

The Captain came by Nag Kath’s before cook even got there. The Elf opened the door, stared for a moment and swung it wide. Penandoth walked in and sat at the table. The Elf gave the groggy Dal a wink to take a walk and sat down himself. Penandoth said without preamble, “I will resign my commission and work for you, but I need another Florin, now. It is personal and I am ashamed to ask in this way.” 

The Master expected to be interrogated but Nag Kath went to his little desk for a coin and laid it on the table without a word. The Captain stared at it longer than he did the two nippers before gently slipping his fingernail under the edge and rolling it into his palm, “I will be back in two days. Please forgive me.”

One needed a stable marriage to advance in the Navy to high Captain. If he didn’t need that career, he didn’t need that wife. Walking to the notary, Penandoth slowly grew a grin that left Nag Kath’s in its wake. 

At dinner with the Ivandreds the next night, Eniecia said to the air in the room, “Mina seems a very nice young woman.”

When Uncle Nag did not respond, Cal said, “Yes, very nice indeed.”

Undeterred, Eniecia commented, “Now which is it … yes, ‘The Enscior Murtal’ is next Thursday. Sometimes the tragedies make me melancholy, but they can be uplifting.”

Not even Legorn would touch that one. Their water blossom bloomed on, “My friend Lurnith knows a woman who enjoys …”

The stern Elf-Lord glare froze her tongue. Eniecia had never seen it before but Nag Kath had a lot on his mind and juggling females had no room on the manifest. The Countess of Dale had another bite of fish. Uncle Nag said he would skip the tearful, three-act dirge. Cal and Eniecia’s children could have his seats.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath’s raised eyebrow never threatened Talereth’s, but Captain Penandoth got his best when he showed the following morning. The man traded his Florin for a signature, moved his things to a small apartment near the shipwrights and got his handshake at the Naval Office. He was in neck-deep with little to do until Stieffild and Yarlundar started bending boards. 

It was too early to look for crew. Penandoth explained the expected outlays. Senior men came first since they would need to commit before the next trading season. The crew could come afterwards and a few Haradrim nearer sailing. The last were easily found. Though not sworn loyal to the Prince, they were reliable since they would be treated worse than the western sailors if captured by former countrymen.

The Elf hadn’t expected Penandoth to be available so quickly. Taking a long sip of tea, Nag Kath said, “I need to tell you what I am about here. I have told you of some of my skills. There are more. I am going south following the suggestion of a very powerful sorcerer to see what is left of Sauron’s powers and, if possible, to destroy them. It could well mean having the crew in a safe port while I thresh the wheat. 

“We might find nothing. It might be we trade our goods and turn around. It could take months to discover the secrets. The sorcerer, wizard; probably, has a following which for thousands of years has sought to disrupt Sauron’s intent. They work humbly and quietly, and seldom in the west. Last week I sent a letter to a friend in Osgiliath inquiring if a few can be found to be among our crew. If I need to go deep into the heart of the beast, they will be my companions. The Righters are almost certain to need training, but will be brave and true.”

Penandoth wasn’t concerned, “That is no trouble. If they are greenbottoms, I will need sailors to fill those duties. It only means we have a few more fighters onboard.”

As with the aqueduct, Nag Kath called a meeting of the principals including the Captain, his new adjutant Dal, the right-living and southern scholars, Minister Cal and himself. There were no secrets. This was not a government project but it was sanctioned by the highest Lord of the land. Since responsibilities had been divided, everyone was fascinated by the whole. Opher and Kastagorm would not accept compensation. Khandrath took a modest retainer for very valuable information about customs and history of a place most of the world tried to forget. After today, Nag Kath met the scholars separately.

Khandrath explained Near Harad was the first enemy to reach terms with the Elessar. The northern Easterlings raided several more years until the King’s and Prince Faramir’s troops destroyed their forces. Everyone knew a more recent probe-in-strength was slain to the last man by men stationed in Dorwinion. Nag Kath told them it wasn’t until Dulgov that the two sides broke bread. 

Harad was a huge place and after the war, no one part spoke for any other. The King’s agreement was with the tribes closest to the border along with a mission on the north Harnen river-mouth. That carried no weight with those of the deep-south and southwest. The clans along the southern Mordor Duath had been the most fanatical which earned them the worst casualties on the Pelennor. They might be trouble now that their population was at pre-war strength. That would have been far worse had the Visitors succeeded in pushing their aims to the less-defended Khanates below. Nag Kath’s Mordor story gave that context.

After hauling his things to a home mercifully without Clarissus, Penandoth spent time with the Ministry and Elvish plans. He proposed a few changes; adding brackets along the rails so shields could be used at need. Installing a derrick davit near the main hatch would let them onboard anything heavy since they would not be crewing extra men for cargo. He also suggested two pivoting rear-ballista mounts. If the ship was built to outrun, the enemy would be astern. With no objections or new business, a demi-cask was tapped. Nag Kath told them any of them could speak to any of the others without his leave and that he was proud of them.

______________-------______________

By all accounts, the Catanard was as depressing as advertised. Purists believed they had to suffer through at least one per year to complete their ritual. This time, Callistra and Phaeron brought their children so old Captain Ivandred neatly avoided the protracted heartbreaker. 

Looking forward, one simply cannot appreciate the situation without understanding ‘The Mayor’s Niece’. One of the oldest Catanards still performed, it is usually the anchor of the season. Songs requires great range in both the male baritone and tenor leads. The women are more comedic than musical but get the best speaking lines.

Tradition matters. The Niece is a bawdy tale hinting in the opening act that the maiden may not be, shall we say, inexperienced. It also encourages the sort of audience participation to make the Elves of Lorien cringe. The piece was too well established to deny, even by a line of rather priggish Princes dating to before Imrahil. Given the rotation at this; the shrine of the musical form, it played every four or five years and always to standing-room crowds.

Who sat in the Prince’s box mattered.

With that backdrop, Nag Kath collected his lovely belle on the chime of six and walked her down to the pavilion. The sun had chased the few light clouds away hours before Arien carried it behind the Prince’s Citadel. One could not have ordered a better evening.

Mina wore brighter colors and her hair was up again, held in place with two long, thin strips of blackwood. She was more relaxed than the last opera and pleased to be out. He wondered if he would ever be alone with her. The older Ivandreds were already seated with Field and Grenda. Raniece came last year too, but this was daughter Talienne’s first opera as an adult. The eighteen year-old chatted with the pretty, enigmatic widow.

When members of the Princely family attend this or any other large event, the audience stands as they find their chairs. Tonight the patrons got a thrill when the heir, Lord Imrothil, his older sister, Lady Lourden and both their spouses arrived with several of their children and a special guest, young Lord Barahir of Ithilien. A murmur through the crowd told everyone who he was. 

As he was taking his seat, Barahir saw the Ivandreds twenty feet away and waved calling, “Ah, splendid to see you. Let us speak after the performance.”

The Lords of Belfalas seemed pleased and settled on their cushions as the Sayer walked on stage to set the night’s intrigues. All prepared themselves for the opening except young Talienne, who, from the relative angle of their seats, was directly in line with the handsome northern Prince speaking to the Elf behind her. Her eyes were as round as those of the frogs men hunt with polished lamps at night.

Mina leaned against the tall Elf to enjoy watching the poor Niece escape her Uncle’s schemes to divide her dowry by marrying her to an ill-favored businessman. Leotas was in fine form as the Mayor. A large, florid man in grotesque face-paint, he broadly acted his sinister designs to vocal condemnation. Of course, the actors played off the audience too. One patron cried, “How can you treat her so?”

Leotas bellowed, “You would too with this heavy costume!”

A great success! People stood and clapped as the cast, musicians and dancers came back on stage to bow and thank their noble sponsors. Lord Imrothil started speaking with the man in next box which gave Barahir a chance to work through the patrons and shake Nag Kath’s hand.

The changeling said, “I am glad you could come. When did you arrive?”

Barahir answered, “Just yesterday.”

The Elf asked, “May I present my family? This young fellow is Captain Ivandred. This is Minister Caladrion, who I believe you know, and his wife, Countess Eniecia. Together they were the players from the famed trip to King Elfwine’s wedding.” 

Barahir reassured with; “That was one of grand-father’s favorite stories, and my Aunt Lilleth’s too.” Looking at still beautiful Eniecia, “She was much taken with your poise.”

"These are their children, Field and Grenda Ivandred and their daughters Raniece … ” he nodded to the other end of the box, “ … and Talienne, who, is rumored, can sing like a bird.”

Barahir kissed the blushing girl’s hand and said, “I am indeed fortunate.”

“And this, My Lord, is Mrs. Pfennick who knows more about this music than I ever will.”

“Enchanted, Mrs. Pfennick. Nag, what is the day … come up for lunch on Saturday.”

“I will be there, sir.” The Prince’s box was preparing to leave so the young Lord excused his way through the patrons again and was off with the guardi escort. The ladies stared at the Elf who waited for them to gather their wraps and make for the Lion’s Beard. 

The Ivandreds did no singing this night and left after the first pitcher of wine. Grenda and Field took their awestruck daughters home leaving just Nag Kath and Mina while people from the audience trickled in to take formerly reserved seats. It was the closest they had been to being alone. Both finished their cups and walked up a side street that wasn’t so crowded.

She said, “It seems you are more hero than I know. I suppose I will have to wait to hear your stories, Nag Kath.”

“A fair exchange. You are dazzling tonight.”

Arriving at her parents’ home she said, “Thank you. It has been some time since I dressed for an occasion. Now, I have done it twice in a month. Perhaps my luck is turning. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath had not been to this part of the palace before. Barahir was in secluded guest quarters closer to the Princely family than the administrative offices. He suspected they had private council-rooms in-between. Other than meeting Prince Imrahil in his office, his only visits here had been in the more public rooms or for finger-cakes in large settings.

The city was abuzz that the heir of Belfalas had come to the most important Catanard of the season. Prince Alphros was now 92, six months older than Nag Kath. If Imrothil and his eldest sister came with their broods, the Principality should prepare for that from now on.

Nag Kath had only met Alphros once at the wedding sixty years ago and never met Imrothil. He supposed that would change. Barahir’s father was still in his prime so the young man was probably representing Ithilien’s intertwined interests and meeting his own generation.

“Ah, come in, my friend!”

Nag Kath bowed and shook Barahir’s hand. The young heir showed him to a chair at a small, round dining table and took one beside it. They helped themselves to cool tea from a pitcher and clicked mugs. Bara said, “Thank you for your letter. This visit had been in motion for a long time but your being here is a nice touch.”

“Thank you, Bara. It seems we both have considerable family on the island.”

Barahir smiled, “I have made discreet inquiries about kingly romance. To be honest, I imagine my tale with difficulty as the ending might not go as well as the rest. You are right that events must be considered after the moment.”

“I feared you might, sir. And if I may be so bold, those who write them are often of their own moment. You have opportunities and responsibilities in the here and now.”

“Father often reminds me of that.”

Nag Kath knitted his eyebrows a bit and remembered, “There is a source you must consider, lo I do not know if it is even of Middle-earth anymore. Do you know the Hobbits in the Shire?”

“Oh indeed I do. Both Thain Pippin and Master Meriodoc were often guests or we saw them in the White City. That is where I heard my first stories of our Liege before his Kingship.”

Nag Kath warmed to his lore, “The Ringbearers wrote their history, going back to the destruction of Smaug. Bilbo began. Frodo has the bulk of it and Samwise added more later. It was an ongoing tale and much revered, bound in red leather, and written in different hands with pictures and maps. 

“You must look at that, and perhaps have copies made so all the world can see the tale of such noble little people. If your later duties call for a trip to Annúminas, you go right through the place. You would certainly be welcomed in their gracious style.” The Elf smiled, “Take a scribe along for the ride.”

Bara exclaimed, “You make my labors too easy! Yes, I shall do that, or, at least, send the scribe.”

Servants brought a light lunch in the local style of putting different things between small sliced loaves like his picnics with Phyll. The friends took what they wanted from the plates and constructed their own with sauces and greens. After finishing a large bite, the heir changed the subject, “King Elessar was much taken with the drawings from Mithlond. As I understand it, Ministers here think to include Elvish elements in their vessels?”

Nag Kath winced inwardly. “I thought those might make their way upriver. The main difference is the shape of the hull. Their craft are deeper, methinks more stable in high swells. Men are working on that now.”

It was not especially secret so Barahir added, “I know Prince Legolas was in the White City not long before me and was said to enjoy seeing the craft of his kin.” No surprise there. The Elf would need a boat one of these days. He may have been to the Grey Havens fifty times over his long life but somehow, Nag Kath thought fewer. The Woodland Realm was the outlier among the the firstborn in Arda. His father was the last Elf of Middle-earth who styled himself as a king. Legolas was honored in the other realms, but not of them. 

The Elf asked, “Now to the important business; did you enjoy the music?” That impossibly broad question could range from the portly villain’s comical intrigues to the succession of Dol Amroth. 

The heir formed a curious smile, “I did, but I cannot say I quite understood it. The men of Ithilien style themselves as hard defenders of the borderlands. Leisure is weakness. While folk here have been fighting almost all the while, they allow themselves surcease, knowing it refreshes them.” He winked, “Osgiliath; does not signify. They have their pleasures. Your party seemed to know when to cheer and boo.”

The Elf had a long pull of the excellent tea and added, “All among them were born and bred here, except my grand-daughter Eniecia. She is a grand-daughter of Brand of Dale but came into her own in Minas Tirith. Her mother, my adopted daughter Ardatha, was friend to your grandmother Éowyn. It can be a confusing web of lines in these closed worlds.

“And the charming Mrs. Fen …”

“Mrs. Pfennick. I just met her at the connivance of my lady relatives.”

Barahar thought a moment, “Yes, I am on the block here also. Now, the young lady in front of you, she was very fair indeed.”

“Talienne, my great, great grand-daughter.” Nag Kath chuckled, “She is our Queen Nephtat.”

The heir cocked his head slightly to encourage the rest. The Elf elaborated, “In that family, every few generations brings forth a woman who resembles a painting of an ancient Queen on the seventh. The hair can vary but the face is as painted centuries ago. Talienne is now just eighteen. I do not know her parents very well and have not asked their plans for her, though I do know this was the first season she accompanied her parents as a woman-grown.”

Barahir was here to represent his father in consultations with the blood relations of the kingdom. As the young man alluded, he might also be shopping for a Lady Wife since Ithilien was not overcrowded with nobility. There would be a variety of courtly maidens who happened to be in his presence while he was here for as long as two months. His larger duty was to spend time with Imrothil and his brother Emphar. Imrothil was the same age as Barahir’s father Elboron and the imminent successor. Nag Kath knocked on that door, “Bara, if it does not betray any state secrets, how fares our Prince of Dol Amroth?”

“No secret, my friend. He is still sharp of mind but has difficulty with his joints. Lords Emphar and Imrothil are doing more of the endless tasks that come from managing such a cumbersome government. It is an orderly succession as these things go.”

“Please convey my best wishes to the family. I do not know this generation.”

Barahir did not care for the Belfalas leafy cabbage and removed it from the rest of his stack before saying, “And now; what of you? Your guest seemed very fair.”

Nag Kath laughed, “We just met, but yes, she is lovely. My problem, and this is no deep secret but not widely known, is that I purpose to sail to lands below Harad. It is probably a long, dangerous business and I do not need to make the poor woman a widow twice.”

“Hence your interest in Elvish ships?”

“Umhumm. The sorcerer of Rhûn left a clue to that land. If he was there, there were probably men of his path fighting those of Sauron’s flock. I will see what remains of both.”

“I should go with you. Statues aren’t erected for administrators.”

The Elf chuckled, “Then you haven’t seen my statue. It is in the annex of the water gates in Osgiliath. If you look, you will appreciate that noble men do what is right for their people, in war and peace. Not that you wouldn’t be welcome. Dear Captain Ivandred was my first volunteer. He is merely one hundred and five, a famed Captain of Marines!”

“Tell me more about it. Father’s Chamberlain has a full schedule of meeting and greeting but there are sizeable gaps.”

“If royal food grows old, come to my family’s for dinner. The blue Odar are running.”

Barahir thought through his schedule, “Give me two weeks.”


	4. The Anguish of Wizards

**_Chapter 4_ **

**_The Anguish of Wizards_ **

Nag Kath took the time to organize. Penandoth presented his modifications to the ship plans. It had the deeper hull but was otherwise closer to the Navy than the Elvish design since the ship had to start before the first new harriers would have really been tested in blue water. Dal kept with the Captain and the two got along well. Penandoth needed him more than Nag Kath and that would only increase from here.

Preparing for the south was a jumble of unrelated pieces so Nag Kath spent time with his helpers separately. The Scholars, both the three and occasional meetings of the larger group, were an enormous resource. Opher considered his way of life to be right-living had not been to the east. The Elf spent many hours with him talking about the sorcerer and the Ghurates. With family and, no doubt, a secure income here in this excellent place, he would not be visiting there as a pilgrim.

Khandrash knew of languages and types of men to the south. He had been no further than he was born but folk traveled north and south along the coast all the time, some from well down. One old-timer remembered the female Mûmikils going up to work on Nag Kath’s water-path. Most travelers spoke some sort of Westron or Plainstongue. Rumor had it; the surviving Black Numenoreans still spoke Sindarin when they lived in Umbar. 

Dal spent most of his time with Captain Penandoth, sometimes sleeping on the man’s floor and sometimes at Nag Kath’s. Glynnys made breakfast and usually dinner for all three whether it was served at the Elf’s home or not. The sailors had more to do and were usually together, but Dal still ran errands for Nag Kath.

Uncle Nag paid a call to Field and Grenda Ivandred. Field watched the properties here in Dol Amroth for his parents after Eniecia inherited half of her parent’s estates. It wasn’t much work since most of the property was upriver, but the man made sure the bank drafts were booked. A sedentary job helped after resigning his Marine commission because of a broken leg at sea. He could walk fine on flat surfaces but avoided steps. 

Both girls were out, as Nag Kath suspected. Grenda showed him in for tea and they deployed around the low table. Field wondered, “How is your boat coming along?”

“We keep playing with the design but the wright won’t lay the keel until late winter. I think they are trying the new design soon so I will sneak by for a look until they toss me out.”

Grenda said, “The Captain enjoyed the comedy. I love it when grand-da has a good time. He is still very hale.”

Nag Kath grinned, “He is the best of men. Forgive me for coming unannounced but I wanted to catch you both alone. If this is not my concern, say so, but I wanted to ask if you have considered Talienne’s future.”

Grenda replied, “Of course. She is coming into her own.” The woman demurely poured her tea and stated, “You are up to something, Nag Kath.”

“The heir to Ithilien asked about her. I do not know if he was merely being polite, but he is not here entirely to wish his Uncle peace beyond the circle. If he asks again, what do I say?”

Field took a long pull of his tea, prepared with honey in the custom of his kin. Then he looked at his wife. They had educated the girl as Eniecia had been taught. She was intelligent, mannerly and attractive. But she was also still quite young. Heritage certainly qualified her. She was in the direct line of the King who slew Smaug. On Cal’s side she and Barahir were kin to the King of Rohan. Talliene had not been groomed for royalty and they would not force her into marriage to feather their well-feathered nest. If the right prince came knocking that was fine, but he would need more than his title to claim either of their lasses.

Grenda did the talking, “You know him, Nag, is he a wholesome man?”

“Indeed. A bit bookish but also an earned officer of their horse, and they take that position seriously across the Anduin. Between us, though it is probably no secret, I think life is a bit dull for him after schooling in the White City. It pays him and his parents, who are very fine people, to visit his kin here. What their other designs are, I cannot say.”

Field had another sip and said, “If the man inquires, I think Talienne would enjoy meeting him again. I have never seen the painting you say captures her line, but perhaps she is a queen of old.” Grenda nodded. Not much slipped past Grenda.

______________-------______________

The last opera in the fall season was ‘That Which Comes to Us’. It was the performance Nag Kath saw when he escaped the guest quarters after he was taken from the cave, not that he knew. It is a short work in a single long act. 

Most of the classic forms are adults trying to manipulate younger relatives; tragedies if they succeed, comedies if they fail. This story has magic; the tale of a sorcerer of indifferent morals and ability who learns he has a nephew contemplating marriage to a noble lass. He must choose between his kin and his own interests. At times in its history, rulers forbade its playing thinking it gave commoners airs that they could rise above their station. No one seemed worried about that now so it played every six or seven years at the end of the season when folks’ attention was drifting from summer entertainment.

Mina was waiting by the door. The old steward turned and saw her before shuffling out of the way. Nag Kath kissed her hands as she showed him into the main room. 

It would have been unthinkable for a maiden to leave unchaperoned with a man, and butler Demandred thought Nag Kath a man. But Earmina Pfennick, nee Reynthalar, had been a married woman and they were allowed more freedom in the Principality. Her parents had no trouble with that, but the poor butler still thought of her as the shy lass he knew since birth.

Nag Kath collected his lovely Earmina after greeting her parents and they strolled to the pavilion. She was very quiet and held his arm this time. The Captain was there. This was one of his favorites and included a song he had sung for ninety years. That could have been annoying except he was good. Cal and Eniecia were seated and this time the Libron’s joined them with their son Menalgir. 

It wasn’t until the fourth song that Nag Kath realized this was the beauty and the glory that saved him. Mina felt him become very quiet and leaned against him in the faint light. When it was time to cheer or hiss, he remained still, holding her hand, never taking his eyes from the stage. 

The wizard was a parody of famed wizards, including his three, including him too when he did his sums. He carried a staff equipped with a small lamp that had to be cosseted not to go out dispensing his inept spells. The lad and lass were not as dim-witted as in the family comedies. Neither was especially young either, but with face-paint, it was their voices that mattered.

Mina sneaked looks at her enthralled Elf. The stage wizard was in the throes of doubt how to help without jeopardizing his position with the local squire. In the end, he chose what was best for his nephew and all was put right. 

Nag Kath smiled and seemed attentive at the Lion’s Beard but Earmina knew his mind was still on stage. Was it the wizard? He said he knew several. Was it the choice of human good? She was not sure. Callistra gave Mina a wink as the older members left Uncle Nag and his date by themselves.

Mina probed, “Nag, what is it? You seemed lost to us tonight.”

He smiled and said, “I am sorry. That was the first entertainment I ever saw. It brought back associations I thought gone. It is curious that the hapless wizard should be so far from the real ones. They seem distracted, but there is steel inside”

She asked, “May I ask what you are a Lord of?”

“Galador. I performed a service for Prince Imrahil, got my name carved in a monument somewhere. My dear, you seem especially fair tonight.”

“Why thank you, Lord Kath.” She became more grave. “I have not been out much since my difficulty.”

He looked down at her in puzzlement. Her face drained realizing Callistra had not explained the scandal of her widowhood. Oh dear! Here was this courtly gentleman, now trapped into being seen with her publicly. 

The woman stopped breathing. “Nag Kath, my husband died under less than noble circumstances. I would have you know that before you risk your reputation in my company.”

She was so lovely, even pale from this painful exercise in courage. Her lip quivered slightly but she was determined. “Since I started this, you should know my late husband was found floating in the harbor several days after disappearing. It was later discovered that his accounts were in arrears.”

Nag Kath misunderstood, “Did they catch his killers?”

“Oh, no, he must have cast himself in the bay.” When that didn’t change his expression she added, “It was not a great deal of money. He had a dice habit. It was not so much that either of our parents could not have settled. It seems his father had before and ended-up doing so the last time too.”

“I am sorry, Mina. Why would that reflect poorly on you?”

Her lip trembled again. She squeezed her fists. “I was the wife of a man who disgraced himself and his family. In our little world, wives are complicit. I am sorry Lord, excuse me, Nag Kath. Your people are said to be so fair.”

The Elf had a long pull of the pleasing wine and used one of his more serious faces so as not to make light of the woman’s difficulty before saying, “Please, do not give it another thought, for my sake or anyone else’s. You are a dear woman with so much to look forward to. I am proud to be seen in your presence.”

She recovered her color with a slight blush to boot. Nag Kath went on to say, “You must tell me all about yourself but I suppose I have some confessing to do first. I was changed to this form through unknown craft and tutored by wizards so I have some weak sorcery of my own. I am a powerful healer which has come in handy many times. Since the Elves are neither hostile nor welcoming, I have always lived among men and found my greatest happiness among them, though I am still in my own mourning period for the loss of my wife.”

Callistra had not mentioned he was recently widowed either. “I have been married three times and enjoy that state, but it is only fair to tell you that a long, dangerous voyage awaits me beyond where the maps end.”

“You are an immortal? Like an Elf?”

He held his hair back. She said on her breath, “Are you ages old?”

“Not yet a hundred.”

She grew excited, “Even so, there are great tales of Elves even recently. One killed the trolls of Pelargir!”

“Well, uhm, that was me.”

The young woman felt his ear, “You are a hero, then?”

“I fear so.”

She said rather urgently, “Nag Kath, your behavior had been so courtly. You are a true gentleman.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“I am not a maiden. There are those who would think that I might, well, might have more mature needs.” She began to cry softly. Mina dabbed her eyes and found strength to say, “It is more than that though. You, your family, comes from the breed of heroes. I was a spinster, a lass and then woman with her head in the clouds. My only choice in life was to remain so or marry. Waltram was at times a thoughtful husband. But I could never have been more than his wife and then I became less. 

“And now there is you. But you do not touch me. I do not know if it is because I am a tradesman’s daughter, or sullied by circumstance or because you would not take me and then leave on your quest. Forgive me.” The tears started again, “I have overstepped my bounds. I think I should go now.”

The Elf did not release her hands, “Let me tell you a great story of the bravest woman. She was a maid in a land of fierce warriors, in love with a man already betrothed.

“Her King had her care for the women and children as her people stood against the most fearsome foe. They prevailed, but she would not be left behind for the next battle so she disguised herself among riders in terrible strife until it was she who slew the greatest of their enemies. Then she married the finest of men and had children and grandchildren in their time. You met one at the last play.

“All of those were noble duties and brought her honor and joy in their turn. You are no different. I feel your strength. You are brave and loyal. Do not despair. Your parents have been brave to keep you safe. Poor old Demandred protects you against unsavory Elves.”

Mina laughed. The notion of the sweet old retainer broke through her melancholy. 

Nag Kath continued, “But you are right; I would not take you and then leave you for my frivolous adventure. Now, as to touching you, I can imagine nothing finer. I am very fond of that. But I have learned that even greater heroes than me cannot leave such thoughtlessness in their wake.”

“Yes, yes I enjoy that too, but not when done in hopes it would keep my Waltram from the gambling hells. He would leave after and I knew I was not enough. I am sorry, Nag Kath. I am so ashamed.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

In watching the rudderless wizard finally decide for the better, Nag Kath resolved to be chaste with the young widow. But this was also Barahir’s story of Arwen and Aragorn reversed. Nag Kath was not a Lord of dark or light here to judge mortals. Mina was a woman who was bound to the strictures of her small society. She would rather be with a strong man even for a while than spend the rest of her life trying to make-up for things beyond her control. That might seem good now, but he wanted better for her. In the end, he would not have her waiting most of her mortal life for him. Like Grace, the perfect man lived within a mile of her. 

Grimly he said, “I suppose I should return you to Demandred.”

Nag Kath felt terrible. He could have taken her to bed and showed her how heroes pleasure their ladies, but that would leave her doubly shamed. He could marry her to live the best years of her mortal life a widow twice-over. Kissing her hands, he hoped she might be here if he returned from Harad or might find a hero who could share life’s stages equally.

It was a long walk home.

______________-------______________

Khandrash knew of an Umbar captain’s diary in a private collection that described the harbors around that gulf. It was old enough to be in Sindarin, suggesting the mariner was a Black Numenorean. The Umbar regions had been overrun by men of Harad centuries ago who would have used their language or a common-tongue if they kept records at all. 

Nag Kath sent a letter to the owner introducing himself and asking if he could look at the document with his friend, Scholar Khandrash. After a week there was no reply. He sent another and waited another week. After a while, he decided there was nothing for it and walked to the imposing home in the Castle Quarter below the bailey. 

A tall, soldierly houseman opened the door and Nag Kath stated his business. The man said, “Lord Éomandar does not receive unannounced guests. You will have to send a note to schedule a time.”

“I did.”

“Then it is likely he does not want to see you. Good day.” 

As the man was about to shut the door, a curious yellow light hit his eyes. Behind that he heard, “Tell the Lord that Lord Kath is here on business from the crown.”

Khandrash kept his tongue behind his teeth and watched the doorman’s frown as if trying to remember why he had tied a string around his finger. He turned with a half-hearted effort to close the door which hit the Elf’s foot. They followed the retainer as far as they entry hall and waited.

What they got was the lady of the house, an imposing creature if there ever was one. She would be a doyen of the most prestigious area of the city other than the citadel itself. Lady Éomander appraised the two pitilessly and said, “My husband is indisposed. What is your business here?

Nag Kath said, “Forgive the intrusion, ma’am. I am Nag Kath and have come for permission to review one of Lord Éomander’s histories. It may be helpful on a mission I am tasked to perform by the King.” The King didn’t know anything about this but he had no trouble with the Grey Havens and probably wouldn’t mind this little incursion either. 

Another thing Nag Kath knew for sure was that an offer to rent or buy the information would die on the vine. The only way to get at this or anything else Éomander had was from above. While the woman mulled that, he wondered if they were any relation to the Rohirrim in Orthanc. It seemed impolitic to ask.

Lady Éomander said to the doorman, “Make them comfortable in the library.” Implied was that they were not to leave his sight. The tall servant led them to a very nice room that got the eastern sun through fine-paned windows. No refreshments were offered.

Better than a quarter-bell later, an old cove shuffled into the library and said in grave tones, “Well, you came. What do you need?”

Nag Kath said, “I wanted to ask if you own a copy of Captain Hearald’s sailing diary.”

“And if I did, what is that to you two?”

The Elf did the talking, “I will be traveling that way next year.”

The old boy considered that for a moment and said, “It is in Elvish.”

“I was hoping it might be. Does it have any maps?”

Now that he had established these weren’t salesmen, Lord Éomander relaxed. His wife and doorman did not and continued scowling at the two seated scholars. The old man walked to the rack next to Khandrash and pulled a small book off the top shelf. He took an age to find his half-specs and make sure this was the right one then handed it to Nag Kath. A piercing look over his specs was followed by the command, “Tea, Meanace.” The man was gone followed by Lady Éomander.

Nag Kath opened the small book. It had been rebound in velum to match others in the collection. And it was in Sindarin but neglected most of the proper Elvish punctuation and capital letters – something you might expect of a writer on sea in bad light. Éomander sat next to Khandrash and watched.

The Elf looked up and asked, “Have you read this yourself, Lord Éomander?”

“To the extent I can. Elvish was not my best subject.”

Thinking he had a potential ally, if not friend, Nag Kath began reading with the slight theatrics of the Elf-keepers;

**_Clouds converge from the west. I have ordered sail brought in enough to run with the sea and make Ardûmír before they soak us. We are at half-hold with the gureeq grain. Making port will cost us three days to Umbar but we are too heavy to fight north or run the gauntlet if the Haradaich hide in the rocks above Nar Point. Remind First Officer to ration the wine tonight._ **

Nag Kath found a map.

**_A fair harbor with few lighters. Rocks along the outer edge, sand bottom on the lee. Anchor in the blue deep channel. Natives can row to us with their dried fruit. Better to come in January. Woman wearing gay, colored shawls watch carefully._ **

The Elf looked at the Scholar who said, “The port of Pondurash, methinks.”

Éomander looked at the two as a rather comely maid arrived with a pot and three mugs of tea. Deciding it was too hot, the man put it on the straw pad and said, “An ordinary diary, it would seem, gentlemen.”

As scripted, Khandrash said, “Those are often where the details lay, Lord Kath.”

The old collector said, “Lord? You some sort of Lord?”

“Yes, sir, of Galador.” He was a lord in Dale and Gondor too but the leading lights of Dol Amroth considered Gondor more ally than overlord. Hadn’t their Prince come to the Pelennor when Aragorn was a mere ranger?

“Can’t say I’ve heard of you, but then, I don’t get out the way I used to.”

Nag Kath said, “I have only been back this season visiting family.”

The Elf was prepared to drop names shamelessly but that was more effective when asked. His Lordship did, “Anyone I know?”

“Minister Caladrion, though he is now retired from active service.”

“Good man, needed to be firmer with Pelargir, though! Now, what about the book?”

“With your permission, I would like to read it and make a few notes to see how it compares with the fleet records.”

Khandrash knew how to keep his mouth shut. ‘Fleet records’ implied there were documents dear Lord Éomander didn’t have. He wouldn’t get them either since there weren’t any, but they could attend that later. The old Lord muttered, “Well, I suppose that is fine. Make yourselves at home.” He rose and made for the main part of the house.

Nag Kath read quietly but would say ports and people’s names if Khandrash could place them. One thing stood out; at the beginning of each day’s entry, the mariner wrote a symbol that was not Elvish. It wasn’t any of the Sauronic glyphs he recognized either. Perhaps that was for the King’s-Men. He copied it carefully.

There wasn’t too much to this volume but the ones next to it might have secrets. Reading his mind, the Scholar rose and stretched looking for someplace to put his empty mug. When no one came to take it, Nag Kath took a quick peek at three books with matching covers. 

Oh my!

One of them was in even older Adûnaic. Only understanding every fifth word suggested this was a description of the exodus of Numenor after it was destroyed by Ilúvatar. Gandalf had not spent any time with that. From what Nag Kath had learned afterwards, Sauron’s body was drowned along with everyone still on the island and he was relegated to spirit form.

Two camps of survivors remained in Middle-earth. The Faithful held to their belief in the Valar. The King’s-men, loyal to the line that sought to invade the Undying Lands, still followed the poisoned tongue of Sauron. 

They worked their way south until the King’s-men were driven by Gondor south past Umbar before wildmen of Harad removed the Gondorans. If the men of that gulf were still loyal to Sauron, Orlo would be concerned. They hadn’t come north for the Ring battles. That didn’t mean they didn’t still harbor tools of the dark ones. 

Divining the secrets of this book would take more time that mooching around Lord Éomander’s library. There might be other books here as well. Nag Kath was prepared to slip it in his satchel but preferred permission.

After a while, his Lordship wandered back in. The scholars were sitting, talking about possibilities. The old boy said, “Well, did you find what you needed?”

The Elf replied, “Aye, sir, that and then some. I would like to speak to you about this book.” He pointed to the volume next to the gap on the shelf.

Lord Éomander said sharply, “I gave you no leave to look at any other book. Get out of my home!” The strapping doorman came in to enforce his command.

The Elf said in his best Lord’s voice, “I am charged to keep the peace of the kingdom. This book will help me. I ask you to but lend it to me until I can learn its secrets. If not, I will leave with it just the same. I am a good friend and a terrible enemy. Choose wisely.”

The old man was furious but he was also a patriot. He might not have liked his odds with the imposing blonde scholar. Éomander said curtly, “Take it and go.”

They did. It would take the scholars a while to parse through this one.

______________-------______________

Information they already had was confusing too. Umbar was a puzzlement. They had an understanding with Gondor and made no military threats to the northern kingdom but they did not discourage privateers either, other than making examples of men who did not share their takings with the government. There were no ambassadors or official representatives in either realm. Gondor’s outpost on the North Harnen seemed secure but they did not rule the waves. 

Umbar cities were of classic design, becoming more Haradric over time. A superb natural harbor, it had no rivals along an otherwise exposed coastline. Sailors of the region could be found here and Penandoth intended to add a few as the last men on board. Given Nag Kath’s interests below, it made sense to swing wide in the sea around Umbar rather than risk meeting corsairs nearer the shipping lanes.

The Captain knew all about corsairs. His ships both as officer and master were sleek attack vessels supporting the transport ships when pockets of pirates were found infesting the Ethir Anduin. As a younger man he had served on transports too. Most corsair vessels had both sail and oars. They could go anywhere, not as fast as pure sail but not needing it either. They rocked like corks in rough seas. The ship his employer was considering was not a likely target since it obviously would not carry much and be hard to catch. Still, if it was the only candidate, corsairs would do their worst. 

The Umbari tended not to use on-deck fire-ballista since their plan was to either ram or use boarding ramps. They had to get close. Burning or sinking a ship from a distance did them no good unless the cargo floated to the surface. Umbars would shoot firebolts into the sails so you wanted your own missiles to go further. Their archers were fair. The Elf had already ordered Northman bows in the White City and would train half the crew to hit what they aimed at, possibly into galley oar-ports. That would only kill or injure slaves, but it was no time to be picky. 

Penandoth also stopped by the Chandler’s Guild. One difficulty with the closed port was that many of the things ships needed came from elsewhere. When he sailed under the Prince’s flag, it was another man’s problem. This was a part of his new profession he needed to hone. There were so many things a military captain took for granted. The lad Nag Kath found was from the end of sailing where you scrounged everything you used, right down to the nails. 

An unmarked note from Barahir was waiting in the hand of a palace attendant when Nag Kath got back from the market. The man bowed and started to leave. “Hold a moment.” Nag Kath opened the seal and read it twice before taking it to the writing desk and scribbling a comment in pencil. He gave it back to the messenger and said, “Thank you, young man.”

That was confirmation that the young Lord would enjoy coming to Cal and Eniecia’s home for dinner next Wednesday. They knew it was coming but not which day. 

There were fourteen members of the family, all certain to attend. Grenda had to tell her daughters, niece and nephew who else would be there which caused a frantic search for just the right apparel, none of which they currently owned. In near panic, Derissa asked Uncle Nag what must she do or say or not say. He told her to breathe.

The family was assembled. Barahir was late, but not so much that anyone was worried. That was a Princely prerogative, and it took a long time to get anywhere from the citadel. Everyone in the city wondered why the Lords did not put a more comfortable mansion in the lower bailey now that the Umbars were at terms. They could still withdraw to their fortress at need but not have to travel half a mile in the rain to see an opera. 

The young lord was reintroduced or for the first time and given a goblet of what Nag Kath knew was his favorite vintage. Barahir sipped slowly, like his grand-da that way. No one in this family punished the liquor either. Dinner was still some time off so they deployed around the large main room. The former officers had a quick look outside to see a pair of tall, sober men in civilian clothes quietly walking around the property.

There was no avoiding the first topic of the water blossom on the famous trip to Rohan. That was the first post-war meeting of the great war leaders. The dynasties in place today were cemented by policy and family decisions from that moot. Captain Ivandred was all for an encore but it did not come to pass. 

Raniece asked, “My Lord, it was said your grandmother attended the wedding as well. She had a storied part in victory.”

“Indeed, Miss Ivandred. I do not remember her but my father spoke with Meriodoc of the Shire many times. He said he stabbed the Witch-King in the leg and then Éowyn stabbed him in the face, or whatever was inside his helmet. Both of them were terribly poisoned. King Elessar nursed them to health and that was where she met Prince Faramir, a happy story in the end.”

After a while, Talienne found her voice and said, “My Lord, Uncle Nag said you are much interested in lore.”

The young man turned to look directly into her eyes and said, “He knows a great deal and has helped me with historical romances.”

Somehow the next Nepthat managed, “I did not know such things were written.”

Very softly the man said almost as poetry, “It can only be. Greatness comes easier to those with a woman’s strength to steady them.”

Dinner went well. Barahir asked some questions of his own with considerable experience around the table to answer. Menalgir got to talk tactics. The older diners knew he would have been paraded in front of eligible young women since he got off the ship and that begins to grate. 

At a decent hour, the Lord said his goodbyes and thanked Cal and Eniecia for a lovely evening. The two men fell in and they strolled out to the Prince’s Walk for the citadel.

There was still considerable life in the night. The younger women talked to each other. Nag Kath wished Mina was with them. Several times he almost marched to her home and held her close. 

When it was just the older four, Cal said, “Is he serious? Talienne is quite young.” 

“It took your cousin Tillith three years to wrap Elfwine up, and the Rohirrim don’t go in for long courtships. It would take several trips here and there before anything is resolved.”

Cal smiled, “Probably so. The girl will have to learn her mind first. Eniecia was a bolder lass than Talienne.”

“Florin to groats she hears something before he takes the ship up the river.”

______________-------______________

The Elf was wrong, they did not hear from Barahir again before he ended his state visit. Talienne was not crestfallen. She knew he was busy and in demand. She met him twice and that was two times more than most. Imagine a man interested in old romance?!

While their betters were dining on Odar and Rosuldrië wine, Penandoth and Dal were scouring the island for the things they would need to equip a ship. The builders would manage the bolted parts like storage tanks and a galley but that did not include a stove. Stores were scarce for the coming season. Captain visited the Chandler’s Guild and found a few but they were having trouble with supplies too. It was a good thing they started looking early. 

Nag Kath knew a few suppliers. He sent a letter to Tumfred, Tumlath’s son, asking if he could secure a list of items before folk fought over them in Pelargir.

He also sent a letter with a bank draft to Mr. Grueffan, a Dalish bowyer in Minas Tirith, ordering ten more bows of middling tension along with another Dun Brethen for himself and several gross of war arrows to be sent before the spring melt. The sailors of whatever he called the ship should be able to hit more than straw bales in a bay. Penandoth had already seen to ballistae and bolts.

It was time for more money. Stores were three Florin and it would soon be time for the next payment to Stieffild. Penandoth said he had his first officer in mind and it was not too early to approach him. The man ran like a scalded dog when he heard the destination. By December, another man was engaged with a fat bonus. His recommendation for Second was good too. Second Mate Kevland had been in commercial shipping since his naval training and Penandoth did not want to have all soldiers running the ship. They were trained to destroy rather than parlay. 

Finding men was not as hard as they expected. The best way to make something public is to try and keep it secret. Second Officer Kevland did the first interviews. One in three men made it to the Captain and there were enough. He had his eyes on two brothers of Umbar. They were good sailors but there was no need to mention where their ship was going just yet. Captain Ivandred was ready to go, teasing, of course, but he took a man-cart to the ship after the ribs were attached and walked around the hull. Nag Kath hoped he would be here when they returned. It was also time to think about cargo. 

Their outward stocks were basically bribes. Items were ordered from Osgiliath that sold to the well-off of that city and Minas Tirith. The idea was that some would have no equivalent where they went. Items were light, portable and could be doled in small quantities for favors including; a thousand fire-glasses, a hundred reading spectacles, fine, thin woolen fabrics in colors and some undyed. They had surplus swords for sale but really for right-livers if they found any that needed them. In sealed boxes were several thousand matches. Not for sale were three Syndolan rockets painted to look like spare deck rails. Hundreds of decorative boxes were included for presents or sale.

The largest outlay was for jewelry in a wide range of quality. 

In a split-decision of counselors, they added five large casks of Belfalas wine. It seemed the good wines got better in the barrel while the hearty peasant reds got worse. Ale would spoil. It wasn’t from Quaille but they laid-in a crate of Southfarthing leaf just before leaving. 

______________-------______________

In April there was a soft knock on Nag Kath’s door. Glynnys was alone cleaning and opened it enough to inspect the visitor. He seemed a denizen of the quays; small, middle-aged, hunched over and dressed too warmly for the weather. With her foot wedged behind the threshold to keep the man from pushing in she demanded, “What is your business?”

In a curious accent he replied, “I have come at Nag Kath’s request, ma’am.”

She wasn’t used to being called ma’am, but that was not enough to let him in the door. “He is seeing friends. You can wait on the bench.”

The fellow smiled, took his pack off and made himself comfortable on the plank just outside the window. Almost two bells later, Nag Kath walked up the steps and saw the beggar sleeping against the wall. The Elf gently shook his shoulder and the fellow opened his eyes but made no other motion until looking up and saying, “You Kath?”

“That’s right.”

“Listracht.”

Nag Kath said nothing. The man sat up straight and added in Variag, “I am but a poor follower of rightness, seeking a few coppers from the kindly.”

The tall blonde chuckled, “Come in.” He took the Righter inside and called to Glynnys, “Dear woman, can you find Mr. Listracht a cup of tea?”

She turned, somewhat surprised that the man got this far, and answered, “Certainly, Mr. Kath.”

Listracht shuffled inside using a long staff against his hunched gait and looked around. He had not had many chances for bathing on his long voyage. That might make him a fine sailor but not a house-guest. The Elf asked, “Do you know about me?”

The visitor took a long pull of his tea before saying, “Some.”

Nag Kath said, “Let us get you clean and fed.” He turned to Glynnys, “Love, can you have Mr. Roanfinnis fetch water for the bath and have Dal attend us?”

She nodded and left to collect the block handyman. 

Nag Kath walked to the kitchen and tossed over a full-sized cake of Lembas knowing it would restore what food of the road had not provided. The man ate it all.

Not five minutes later, old Mr. Roanfinnis came in with the first two of a dozen buckets and walked back to the bath by the privy. He was nearly done when Dal returned with Glynnys. The man stripped in full view of the woman, who did not seem the worse for it, and climbed in the water. Before she drew the curtain, Nag Kath noticed a few scars that would have come from the wrong end of a blade. Dal sat in his usual chair and was silent, knowing more would be revealed than the backside of Listracht. The bather splashed about and lathered singing in a soft low voice. Glynnys announced she was going to get more food. A few minutes later, a normal-sized upright man pulled the curtains back. Dal fetched a shirt, trousers and underwear from Nag Kath’s room and tossed them down from the balcony.

Listracht drained the rest of his tea and said in Khandian, “Pleased to meet you. A friend from Hanvas Tur said you might like help. Shelturn was my mentor. He was poorly when I left two years ago but Chûr is doing well. He married a girl who looked just like him and their two girls do too. His hair is pure white now.” Listracht’s own hair had abandoned him as a young man.

The fellow put on the clothes, rolled up the trouser legs and sat on the couch.

Nag Kath said in Westron, “This is Dal. Dal finds things.”

The right-liver responded in a heavily accented version of the same, “Got to have that. Pleasure to meet you, young man.”

The Elf said, “Thank you for coming. That is not an easy trip.”

“Your man bought the tickets. I just got on. Never been on the sea before. 

They talked for two hours. Athmandal drank in every word except when they had to use Rhûnic. Listracht was forty and originally from Kelepar but had been in Khand for years before working the Anduin, helping folk stay in touch, often as a guard for small merchant caravans. 

After rehashing the Mordor campaign in what to Dal’s ears was astonishing detail, Nag Kath said, “Here’s what we have; Orlo left me a task, well, call it a hint. We travel to the great gulf where are said to be the last of the Numenorean followers of Sauron. I am having a ship built to take a crew down there.”

Listracht stopped him, “A moment, you met Orlo, in person?”

“He came to me as a vision and gave me the key to the trolls in Pelargir. They would still be there today except some fool of a commander dug them up. Finding Orlo was why I returned to the Ghurates, almost sixty years ago now.”

The Righter had heard his share of Nag Kath stories. He asked, “If you are a wizard, shouldn’t you be frightening?”

“I am self-taught. Getting to the point, what I am thinking for the south will be a more leisurely version of Mordor. We go down, see if there are any artifacts of power remaining of the Yvsuldor and destroy them.”

Dal was agog. This was a good time to be somewhere else but he decided he would stay with the Elf and see what came of it. Listracht grinned, “Good! When do we leave?”

Nag Kath put him in the spare room downstairs. Glynnys almost didn’t recognize him standing tall in decent clothes, which meant the shambling beggar disguise worked. He had others at need. One of his first introductions was to Opher. Meeting a rank-and-file Righter from Sauron’s back porch was interesting. 

In May the crew was hired and waiting for the ship. Nag Kath taught some the rudiments of archery. A few men had shot in their training and Bosun Iberníeg was good. He got Nag Kath’s old bow.

No one spoke Sindarin, or whatever it had become beyond the horizon. Nag Kath taught them a few simple phrases but this was not going to be a project. He did spend time with his scholars to decipher the Numenorean book they extorted from Lord Éomander. That was eye-opening. The writers over at least a hundred years chronicled the King’s-Men’s exodus southward through their holdings in Middle-earth. Folk forgot that they ran most of the areas western men lived now. More accurately; many of the western men here today were of that migration. 

It was a harsh time as comforts they knew for an age were sunk beneath angry seas. Kings came, went and often fought while here. In Numenor before the disaster, Lords would embrace and disdain Adûnaic and Sindarin depending sympathies to Sauron or Eru respectively. This lot was firmly in the dark Lord’s camp. Eventually the scholars made sense of it and copied it for themselves and Nag Kath. Titles and speech patterns alone were priceless.

When that was done, Nag Kath returned the book to Lord Éomander himself. The imposing retainer opened the door and stared down the step at the Elf who said, “I have come to return this. Please thank your master for its use.”

The Lord himself had only been in the next room. As Nag Kath turned to leave, he called, “Hey, you, a moment!”

The Elf turned and watched the old boy come down the steps, both feet on one before the next. Reaching the gravel he walked up to Nag Kath and said, “I asked about you. It seems you are one of the good ones.”

“I hope so, sir. Sorry I was so insistent.”

“You did what you had to. Retain our honor where you go.” With that he was off and his man closed the door with a stare.

As the men fared their women goodbye, he realized that leaving Mina was no different than every other man with a sweetheart. He did hope she would be here when he returned. It seemed to take forever but as July began, Nag Kath paid the last fifth and the Swan Breeze was his. The first exercise was seeing to all the gear. Sailors know to put everything back but it has to start there first. The Elf stayed out of the way. By the fifteenth, they were ready for the maiden cruise. Penandoth ordered her cast off and they tacked against the wind out of the White Harbor and into the Belegaer. There was a pair of leaks below-decks, one serious. Crewman Lanislogen stuffed it with oakum and it would hold until the seam could be pitched back at the dock. 

She was a lot like ships these men had sailed their whole lives. Knots were wrong. Short-cuts were needed without a large, military crew. Things were not to hand, but overall, they could sail her. 


	5. Swan Breeze

**_Chapter 5_ **

**_Swan Breeze_ **

The most useful maps for the next few chapters are; Coastal Haradwaithe, Haradwiathe and Far Harad. This is now outside the realm of Tolkien canon. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

The Swan Breeze eased into the channel on July 18th. Captain Penandoth swung wide at the mouth and made due south for Harondor. After seven days of a favoring breeze, they turned thirty degrees to starboard about even with the Harnen river mouth. Still well to sea, the plan was to avoid Umbar altogether. They were friendly on paper, but stealth was better than diplomacy. Thirty-five leagues of sea between the Bay of Umbar opening and the Swan kept them away from coastal raiders.

The Peristonig brothers, Ubier and Udan, were from Umbari holdings on the northern Harnon river-mouth and kept one eye on the eastern horizon no matter what else they did. Their father left home under less than gracious circumstances. No one knew them from Durok, but they would rather not answer questions. Listracht taught them a few objections in Khandian to trick port authorities. Listracht wasn’t a sailor but he wasn’t sick either and learned things as they went.

The route would take them past the islands of Tol Ulaigaer. That was deep in Umbar waters too, but no matter which way the wind blew, they would have the faster ship. That would be a good place to take on fresh water. Questionable reports suggested the islands had some independence from the Umbari lords but that could be good or bad. A Navy harrier with bowmen and ballista would not be a fat target. They kept Gondor, Belfalas and several other flags to run up the mast depending on the company.

The Swan Breeze had to fight the wind a bit more heading west and that came with a fair summer squall. The triangular rear sail was easily converted to catch rain for the barrels. That gave them the option of sailing between the islands and the mainland and not needing water at all, but a few leaks from the Swan’s first long outing would be easier to caulk in the harbor.

Three weeks and three days after leaving Dol Amroth, the ship rounded the tip of the largest island and made due west for the capital of Erelond. Folk here called it Uialdur. Like most deep-blue islands, it was a steep mountain sticking out of the water. The west side caught more rain but the east had enough to service Erelond and a few smaller ports on the protected side of the rock. They anchored two hundred yards off the city in calm water to stuff oakum into the seams. 

At rest, a lighter rowed by four-men came alongside offering fruit and water or they would go get other supplies in town. The Swan had water but the fruit was too good to pass. They also had an owner not nearly as stingy as most. Udan did the negotiating. They bought all the fruit and ordered baskets of rock-crabs to be brought back that afternoon. Yellow Odar were biting off the lines so the hard biscuits could keep getting harder for now. Nag Kath had enough Lembas to last the crew a month if they ate it in Elf-sized portions.

From here, Penandoth sailed south-southwest for the Cape of Mardruak. This was considered the end of the world for men of the north. It was also the last reliable map in the chest. From there down they only had rough drawings that did not show shoals or islands. There were rock islands off the tip of Mardruak so unless they sailed well west, they had to skirt those in sunlight and anchor at night. It was also only a week’s sailing with a favoring westerly wind. In sunlight the coast varied from yellow to brown with occasional fields along meager streams. 

First Mate Jeurgans made notes in his log about the wind direction, currents, tides near the coast and even what bait the fish ate along the way. They might have to fight the same winds the whole way back. Mardruak was also the first place men noticed new stars to the south as ones to the far north got closer to the horizon. The due-north Carnipal star was still visible but probably only had another several hundred leagues before it would be lost with the rest. Mate Kevland watched for new bearing-stars coming into view. 

Oddly, the Star of Eärendil stayed at about the same height. Until this voyage, all stars seemed to move at the same rate, like the little children’s lamps that shine patterns through holes in a spinning shade. It was said to be carried by Arwen’s grandfather, perhaps visible to all who might need its beloved light.

Southern seas are hot. They needed the breeze to travel and to dry their shirts after a hard day’s work. Precious water was not used for any but the most essential washing. At night, the aft sail was manned for enough speed to follow the wind but the mainsail was rolled. For entertainment, the crew told stories. Listracht told Nag Kath tales better then the Elf. Since a few yarns were proven, men tended to believe most of the rest. The Elf had not shown any sorcery but had stitched a few cuts that healed much faster than they should have. 

After making the cape, the Swan Breeze turned ten degrees further east. From here they only sailed by the rear mast at night. This was still open-ocean but one of their dubious maps showed bare islands so those were probably there along with others not included. This far offshore they barely saw it, but that it was where someone had drawn it gave the navigators slightly more confidence in their charts. 

Two more weeks of blue-water brought them to another point and a sheltered river harbor called Ûrêzáyan. Penandoth ordered her anchored on a good sand bottom two hundred yards off the wharf and they waited to see who arrived. This time it was a military vessel perhaps two-thirds the length of the Swan. With both oars and sails, it was better suited for coastal fighting than the Belfalas harrier if one did not consider the sorcerer on board. They pulled to well within ballista range. Their officer called in a pigeon combination of mostly Southron with hints of Sindarin, “Good day, travelers. How can the Khan of Ûrêzáyan assist in your travels?”

That took a few minutes to translate between the Peristonig brothers and Nag Kath. Whatever else the Ûrêzáyani were, they were not Umbari. After the back-and-forth, the Elf interpreted for the Captain, “Thank you for your courtesy. We seek provisions.”

“The Khan would know who visits on this fair day.”

They had an answer for that if they could figure how to express it. Ubier shouted, “We travel to Miraz where it is said are learned men.” He hoped he hadn’t said ‘we come to burn your children’.

That took some head-scratching on the other ship. Finally the man shouted, “Perhaps we talk, yes?”

Nag Kath looked at Penandoth and said, “I will take the boat with a couple lads and make some sense of this. Keep bows to the ready but below the gunwales, eh? 

Penandoth nodded grimly and muttered, “Charts.” 

The Elf’s entourage included Dal, Listracht, Ubier Peristonig and Seaman Garhvies, who looked like he ate nails in his porridge. They dropped the skiff and rowed over to the Haradrim craft, climbing up a rope ladder and presenting themselves on deck. The northerners knew how to bow and did. So did their hosts. The three senior crew sat amidships on cushions with a like number of local men, one of whom looked much too old to be an ordinary sailor. He said little but it was clear he made the decisions.

Given a respectable time to ask, interpret and answer, the Gondorans explained they were going to the great gulf further south to trade and learn the lore of ancient ancestors – trying to sound like they were sure there was a gulf. Nag Kath was very careful not to give any clues how they felt about the Faithful/Sauron question. Sailors seldom wore articles of faith except small Ulmo medallions on lanyards should the great Vala Lord have to decide their fate. Those were in pockets now. No matter how one felt about dark lords, favor with the sea never hurt.

There was no telling how these people were ruled, but if the local man claimed to be a Khan, that implied he had more ground inland than just the city harbor. After a half-bell of pleasant conversation, more about the northerners than Ûrêzáyan, the older man said something to his fellows. The officer considered that and said, “The Khan would extend his courtesy for your high-men to dine with him tomorrow. Does that meet with your approval?”

Nag Kath had a decision to make. He dragged nineteen men with him to investigate a five-groat copper. A pure merchant would be asking what these folks had to trade. That probably did not amount to much. The Elf smiled and said he would be honored. A day’s leisure would allow them to prepare an appropriate gift for his Excellency.

The old man said something else after that was interpreted and the officer said, “Our ruler is known as Khan Feurhlan. A lighter will come tomorrow after mid-day.”

Someone was getting promoted. The Captain and First Mate would stay right where they were. Second Mate Kevland was neither married nor skittish so he half-volunteered to be the ship’s officer representing unspecified Lords of Gondor. Dal and Listracht would come and so would one of the Peristonigs for Southron. The brothers were now well south of old troubles and getting good pay for what to this point had been a pleasure cruise.

Now, what would the esteemed Khan of Ûrêzáyan like from the hold? 

Picking through the crates, Athmandal started with a small pouch of the Halfling leaf, along with a pipe. There were several nippers worth of rings and earrings in the bag. One of a dozen fine Dwarvish daggers for just such an occasion worked well in Mordor so they would try one here along with a small box of fire-glasses. If those went over well, a pair of reading spectacles might too. Also in the hold was an assortment of presentation boxes. This was the first time they had been used but being nice to people was anticipated for a dozen times.

The lighter pulled alongside at the two-bell and the dignitaries climbed down the rope amidships where the rail was lowest. There were six oarsmen and a caller on the tiller. Neither side understood the other so the travelers sat along the rails and the boat made back to shore.

It was not much of a wharf but easy to disembark so the august representatives were led on foot along a surprisingly wide boulevard towards a white mansion on the hill. It did not seem the sort of place one with enemies would live. The wall would stop creatures from eating the plants but not anyone with a ladder. The gate-guard opened the door without a word and they were led into a very pretty garden still in full bloom with flowers none of them had seen before. Two door guards stiffened as they passed and the five found themselves in an entryway leading to a spacious main room with large plants, trees almost, in huge clay pots near windows covered by a very fine screen mesh to repel stinging insects.

A steward stood with them wordlessly for a few minutes until a man dressed mostly in white with a sword and blue cap came in from a corridor accompanied by the old man on the boat. On cue, the Gondoran’s bowed and stood ready to receive their host’s greeting. Joining them from the other side of the room was a younger man with longer, oiled hair and good teeth; a ladies man as one might style one’s self in Ûrêzáyan. He had some Westron and asked the dignitaries to step inside and make themselves comfortable on cushions facing an elevated dais. 

On the riser the two counselors took seats on large pillows to the Khan’s left. The pillow on his right was not used. The lady’s man introduced his superior as Khan Feurhlan to seated bows from the Swan crew. The speaker was Qhuerisj and the esteemed gentleman from the day before was Dur Ouranda. 

This was Nag Kath’s show so he introduced the other four knowing he would have to take their promotions back on the ship. Before any further discussion, could they humbly present an unworthy tribute to their lordly host?

Dal brought his small chest halfway between the two parties and opened it facing the Khan. Then he bowed and resumed his seat. An attendant from the shadows collected the box and placed it in front of Dur Ouranda who picked through the items. 

This could go several ways; the man might be dismissive to show superiority. They could dig in like orcs eating the parlay pigs. What they got was genuine interest in the practical things, especially the fire-stones. After explaining them, it would not do until their hosts took one outside to burn holes in a leaf. Judging the way the exalted looked at the leaf, Nag Kath thought he would risk the spectacles saying, “My Lord, the small leather case has fire-glasses for one’s eyes.”

Ouranda found that and removed the delicate silvered frames. Nag Kath made dumb-show of how they fit. The counselor put them on and his eyes got as big as saucers. He pulled his hand in and out of focus and smiled, reluctantly handing them to his Lord. Feuhrlan would try them at his convenience.

Dinner was Odar and mutton with local grain, vegetables and fruit to follow served around a low oval table. No alcohol was included. In the course of the meal, Nag Kath said they were scholars seeking wisdom said to be archived in the great gulf eighty leagues south. That could be touchy. They could be here to scout how to bring an invasion fleet. Great Lords of the north might not bother with Ûrêzáyan, but these lads might have allies along the Gulf of Harad who wouldn’t appreciate collaboration with infidels. 

They were lucky. Ouranda said through Qhuerisj that the high Sayers of the great gulf were largely in Bozisha-Dar, the furthest interior river delta of the gulf. That was where the Kaintug (King’s Tongue?) was still spoken. Other records were kept in the Bûr Esmer river mouth but they were of new speech. Of course, no one of repute would look along the southern gulf coast, it being inhabited by persons of low intelligence and character. Second Mate asked, “My Lords, have you sea charts of your recommended places?”

The three Ûrêzáyani consulted each other and Qhuerisj said, “Our navigators will provide you with one after breakfast. So; they were staying the night. That almost got complicated when the last course was served by two stunning young women identically dressed in sheer garments of pale green. After two months at sea, the sailors had trouble keeping their eyes inside their heads. The women, not much more than girls, brought a small bowl to each diner. It was some sort of long white grain with spices and sugars in a milk sauce and would have been delicious if anyone was paying attention. 

That course concluded the meeting. The guests rose to bow as the Khan took his leave with Ouranda. Qhuerisj’s men showed the sailors to individual rooms with comfortable cushions on the floor over woven mats made from swamp reeds. The morning amounted to no more than a bowl of the same grain served plainly, fruit and local tea. As they were leaving, an attendant brought a tube which presumably held some sort of chart. Udan whispered that Nag Kath should not offend by opening it until he was back on the Swan. The local lighter accompanied them with a large gift of fruit. The Elf gave them another pair of spectacles for esteemed Dur Ouranda.

Penandoth and the Elf unrolled the sheet as soon as they got below-decks. All the other four did was talk about the girls which wound everyone on board all the tighter. Perhaps they would find a city on the gulf that did not observe Gelansor too strenuously.

The chart was useful but probably not to scale. It had been copied in the night. What mattered was showing the cities of note along the northern coast of the great gulf all the way back to Bozisha-Dar. It was a little like the Rhûn with deep river inlets defended by sharp peninsulas like fingers into the ship channels. None of the southern coastal cities were shown, if there were any. Were they hostile or stupid?

Lord Éomander’s charts were now behind so these were the best they had. Penandoth sailed south-southeast from there to the mouth of the gulf. A collection of dots off one of the fingers suggested they weren’t found for the next fifty leagues. The fruit baskets were appreciated. It was enough that some was dried in the sun for later or it would spoil in the heat. Sailors often have trouble removing waste with a diet of hard meat and grains so this was considered medicinal as well.

__________------__________

Another weeks’ sailing brought them to a thumb of land Counselor Qhuerisj called Belazhn. That was the turn into what was called the Coral Sea. All things considered, they got here sooner than expected. They hadn’t seen a single hostile ship. No one scowled at the two places they stopped. The weather was fair and there had been no serious accidents or deaths in a business that could deal them with blinding speed. 

But that should have been the easy part. If the new chart was any good at all, there were two bottlenecks in the long gulf where calmer-water fleets could pin them to the shore or issue small craft from harbors, maybe both. This gulf was three times the size of Elvish Lhún with many more inlets, coves and outright bays for corsairs to hide. 

Penandoth and Nag Kath spent time on deck as the Swan made her way along the coast towards the thumb. It was open water for about thirty leagues inside the gulf but narrowed to a pinch between peninsulas from north and south to get to the next two thirds of the way. They made the turn into the waterway and lazily looped along the northern coast. 

There were a lot more than lonely Dwarves staring at the ship. The first tense moment was when a smaller merchantman of Umbar design passed them outbound. Men on deck nodded, as they often do, and neither vessel changed course. Fish liked their bait. There were also strange creatures with long limbs that shot through the water in large flocks. Men tossed nets off the transom and snared a few for the pot. Too tough to eat as they were, cook smashed them with a mallet before adding them to the stew. Schools of massive gray fish swam along the surface, just out of spear-range, and blew water from holes in their heads. They would have been good ballista practice but this was the time to keep those capabilities from view.

A week after rounding the thumb real trouble started. They had just passed the first pinch point. Two ships from the north and one from the east converged on them. The Swan had the wind behind and the other ships had to tack for position but it was still three to one. The two vessels from the north depended on wind as well but the larger one had a single square sail and what looked like fifteen oars to either side. She was a fighter, and no error. There was a ramming nose on the galley but no sign of smoke for fire arrows yet. 

Penandoth had his mates call for bows to be strung but kept out of sight. The floating shields were ready to mount and the ballista were wound and loaded. This was one of those points where it might pay to see what the locals could manage. The deeper they went, the harder it would be to get out again. They had no idea if the men who governed this vast water-land were in accord or if each city-nation along the shore made its own rules. Losing the two sailing ships would be no trouble. Turning hard would take them out of the galley’s range.

Nag Kath said, “If you think it wise, let us learn their intentions.”

The Captain nodded. He ordered the Swan to drift slightly starboard, giving the galley a clear path by. If she shifted towards them, they would turn hard and see how far Northman arrows could fly. The galley held course but slowed. So did the Swan. Two hundred paces away, the galley shipped oars and drifted forward so Captain Penandoth took in sail to pass slowly, about eighty paces between them. A man in pale colors climbed the rigging and shouted in a similar tongue to the Ûrêzáyan, “You sail the waters of Khan Nurvahl. What is your intention?”

“Nag Kath said in Sindarin through the bellow-horn, “We make for Bozisha.” That was taking the chance these lads were friendly. The Swan flew the colors of Dol Amroth, for all that meant here. It would not be long before the two coastal ships reached them. Putting on sail fast gave them another five minutes before it was time to leave. One word and it would happen. Men watched the galley for smoke or heads failing to stay low. 

They saw both. Whatever these men thought of Bozisha, they would help themselves to the Swan. A fire ballista was lit on the galley and shot towards their sail. It missed, but now they had the range.

Men clipped the shields to port and took position with their bows. All that was rendered moot when the Elf stood on the rail and unleashed a fearsome bolt of fire from his hand. It seemed to burn a swath along the water across the middle of the galley. Men below-decks screamed as smoke billowed out of the oar ports. A second flame headed directly for the man who hailed them, burning the clothes from his body. Without Gandalf’s true fire-bringing power, this was more fireworks than weaponry, but the galley was not going to loiter finding out. Except for the burned ports, they pulled for their lives towards the closing sail-ships that were now veering hard to either side.

If the Swan crew wasn’t already about to regret all the dried fruit in their diet, one of the galley sailors dousing the fire on deck suddenly flew overboard and skipped across the chop like a flat stone until he smacked into the side of the Swan Breeze. Men pulled him out of the water as the wind filled their sails. Other than some bruises and coughing water, he was intact. Penandoth ordered, “Bind him below-decks. We will have words shortly.”

With their pursuers bringing in sail and the galley facing the wrong way, the Swan sailed due east leaving the locals in the horizon. Storytime was different tonight. Nag Kath sat down with his bowl of squashed tentacle-fish stew and said to those not navigating, “Good work lads. I think we should hear what our guest has to say.”

Seaman Curisau could wait; “With due respect, sir, I would like to hear what the DOUGSH happened this afternoon!”

Listracht commented, “That was an interesting combination, Your Lordship.”

That was what everyone else was thinking so Nag Kath answered, “I am a wizard, probably the last. I am going to our destination to see what is left of Sauron’s tools. If I find them, I will destroy them. I made an example of that galley so when we leave, those folk will be less inclined to interfere. 

“I cannot say what to expect as we get near the river mouth but I suspect people there are much more like those of Dol Amroth than the Southrons. They were the last King’s-men. Does anyone know who they were?”

One man offered, “The Faithless.”

“Right. It is said that the Faithful and the Faithless battled again down here. We do not know who won. My guess is the Faithless, but the ships we saw today are probably just corsairs for the local satrap. The Captain and I will get the prisoner’s views on that shortly. Anything else?”

The Harad was escorted out of the stifling bilge and tied to a pylon. Seaman Gharvies took the gag from his mouth and gave him a long drink. He had fouled himself below and had a wicked weal on one side of his face from hitting the ship. If he could die right now, he would. 

Udan Peristonig was with the Captain, Listracht and Elf away from the other men on deck. Nag Kath asked in Westron, “What is your name, sailor?”

When that got nothing he tried Sindarin. The man understood some of it but it wasn’t until Udan asked in Harad that he said, “Voulshuh.”

“Why did you attack?”

Voulshuh was confused. They gave him a drink. No one had bent his fingernails back or tied stones between his toes and twisted the string. There were many ways to make men talk and he had seen none of them yet. He said in a Southron dialect, “Captain says to burn sail.”

Penandoth was interested but knew their primary need was for who was in charge here so he deferred to the Elf for questions. Nag Kath obliged, “Who commands?”

“Captain Hughl.”

“Who commands him?”

That question didn’t stick. Nag Kath tried again, “Who is Lord on land?”

There was no answering that. It was as Nag Kath thought when asked why his Uruks were in Gondor. If you say, the boss will take a week to kill you. If you don’t, this lot uses you for bait. Better later than now so he said, “Dourouthu of Ajesfa.”

Penandoth asked “Where’s that?”

“North, north harbor on peninsula.”

The Elf asked, “Where is Bozisha-Dar?”

“East.”

Penandoth; “How far?”

“So far, we never go there. Hard men, good ships. Duneishda!”

The Elf took the lead, “Dúnedain?”

That was a stretch too far for deckhand Voulshuh. 

Nag Kath did not come from the interrogation school of Belfalas sailors. This man wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t get away. He obviously was not willing to die withholding information out of loyalty to his loving Khan. As far as the Elf was concerned, he was the newest crew member who would share everything he knew for a considerably better outcome than he deserved. Nag Kath said as much to Penandoth who saw it the same way. Udan was deputized to be his new friend.

Udan wasn’t too sure about that, but he interpreted. Nag Kath took a piece of paper out of his pocket and drew Fûl on one side, Orlo on the other. The stunned sailor did not respond to either, even after a flash of yellow from the Elf. Penandoth said, “Cut him loose and get him some food.”

Later; the interrogators sat near the prow, Penandoth with a small clay pipe of the bribing pipe-weed. After a good puff he asked, “That little trick with the yellow?”

“A confusion spell. Not a good description as I do them, but it will be hard to get out of his mind. I need that man to tell us what we’re sailing into. If we get a chance, someone closer will be better, but I am not expecting many volunteers. 

“All is on plan. We sail into the river mouth with goods for sale like any merchantman and see what they have to trade. A curiosity, yes, but we’ve seen half a dozen ships minding their own business already. We find out if Sauron or the Witch-king has any real power here … not claiming it or aligning with old demons, I mean summoning powers of old.”

Listracht wondered, “Then what?”

“One of us dies. If they get me, sail home and collect your money.” Nag Kath grinned, “But not before.”

Voulshuh settled in fairly well. He ate like he hadn’t been fed in months. He might not have, but more than the slaves pulling oars. Men on board were careful with their deck knives. When a sail-tie worked loose, Ubier ordered him up the rigging to secure it and was obeyed with fair competence. After a few days, the man thought he might live.

___________------___________

The Swan Breeze took their time getting across the middle wide zone of the gulf. They faced a second pinch point to enter the last bay which seemed rather spacious past that. The hills to the north were getting greener with settlements and even large towns along the streams. Capt’n anchored in a group of islands on the boot-toe of the peninsula to see what kind of commercial traffic came and went. Elf eyes on the nearest rock scoured the water for merchantmen plying this route. Men used the time to swim and wash their clothes in fresh water. The ship was perfect; new enough not to be rotting and fully broken-in.

Two days later, a convoy of three ships sailed past them heading east into what was called the Bay of Miraz. The lead ship was a fighter under sail with oars shipped. The two behind were cargo-craft low in the water carrying as much sail as they could. Penandoth eased the Swan out three leagues behind them just like a child following his big brothers. 

Made for speed, the Swan only hung enough canvas to keep in sight of the convoy. The next day, the fighter took the rear-guard to watch them but they maintained their pace. It was a long trip. This leg of the gulf was fully sixty leagues from the pinch to the river. Part of the reason for following was to appear one of the pack, but another was to see how they navigated shallows. Sizeable islands dotted the north coast and came in from the south protecting the huge bay of a large river. 

On the third day, the experiment was put to the test. Two war galleys were moored off the furthest southern island. The convoy sailed past with the Swan Breeze ten miles back. Men on the decks looked at the sleek design but no one ordered them to do anything. Voulshuh muttered, “Duneishda.”

Udan explained that to Nag Kath. “Warriors. Old, fierce, not Harad.”

The Elf asked the prisoner in Haradric, “Do they speak your tongue?”

“Yours.” The prisoner wanted nothing to do with the Duneishda but knew he was staked to the ship with the man of fire. It was said men here could do likewise. They set anchor along the northern bank to consider the next move. The convoy continued on but the gulf was getting tight and there was no reason to rush. Chances were good another flotilla would be along soon enough if they wanted company. Ships in groups of twos and threes passed them outbound in the morning. They seemed ordinary enough. 

About lunchtime, a smaller, single merchantman came their direction hugging the bank. It saw them and stopped. A big harrier in the Anduin mouth was the poor-cousin in those fleets but it was a capable pirate in the Bay of Miraz. The merchants were trapped. Turning back exposed their flank. Going on took them perilously close if the Swan Breeze wasn’t friendly. She seemed to be waiting for a group to join.

Listracht, Penandoth and Nag Kath, who started calling themselves ‘The Three’, agreed they should have a word. The Swan put on just enough sail to pull slowly fifty paces off her port side and drift. Men gathered along the rail. No weapons were displayed. The Elf stood on the rail holding on to the rigging and called in Sindarin, “We would like to talk.”

In the same tongue, after an age of separation, the deck officer yelled back, “About what?”

“Discussing cargo. I will come over in a small boat.”

The Captain of the Phaezael thought if the man volunteered to be a hostage, he could hear his tale so he shouted, “Come aboard!”

The men of the Swan Breeze were now sure that the Elf was mad or had eggs of brass, probably both. Dal and Listracht got the job of rowing him over and all three climbed the rope ladder. The Master, a tall man here at six feet, walked up to the travelers and said, “This way.” Dal stayed with the boat.

The tillerman left after a wink and the two foreigners sat on a bench along the stern.

“Well, you are here.”

“Thank you. We are heading to Bozisha for the first time and were attacked some leagues back by a galley and two one-masted huraugh. I want to be sure of my welcome.”

“Huraugh? Not ours.”

“That is good to know. So we are not confused for enemies, what is the way to present ourselves at the harbor?”

The Captain had now decided this lot wasn’t here to take his ship so he could cooperate. “Use the orange dock. State your business. The harbormaster will ask a few questions. His wife is fond of jewelry.”

Nag Kath leaned forward a bit, the universal signal that a more confidential question was coming. “There is another concern. Being from foreign lands, we do not want to seem insensitive to the customs of this fair port. Who rules and does he have strong religious views?”

Captain Estanfurar thought that a very foreign question indeed. Like all civilized men, they believed in the Valar, headed, of course, by Melkor. A man needed a sense of fitness. The blonde northerner with the impossible accent brightened noticeably when told, obviously pleased that men here understood the nature of Those Named, unlike the swarthy race that attacked them.

The smiling blonde asked, “Should we be asked to explain ourselves, who rules the lands of the Bozisha, best of sirs?”

“Ar-Gimilzôr.”

“A Khan?”

Estanfurar stared at him as if he was not as bright as he first appeared. Relenting he said, “King. Khan is a Harad term. You will not find that appreciated here.”

The tall man stood gushing, “I cannot thank you enough. We would disgrace ourselves in ignorance. Oh, the corsairs were just off the second point on the north; two huraugh hugging the coast using the breeze and the galley in deeper water.”

Captain Estan-furar thought that a fair exchange. The greenbottom was rowed back to his ship and the merchantman dropped sail to deliver their cargo.


	6. Blacker than Expected

**_Chapter 6_ **

**_Blacker than Expected_ **

Melkor!

They rowed in silence.

Melkor!

Listracht and Nag Kath exchanged enough glances that Dal started doing it too. 

Melkor! Why Melkor? Dal asked, “Something is new?”

The Elf said, “No, and yes. A very old player has come into the game. It is probably nothing. We need answers.”

Athmandal knew that meant to keep this to himself. 

The Swan Breeze added sail as soon as the skiff was hauled onto its mounts. That evening, Listracht, Penandoth and Nag Kath sat on the fo’c’sle and smelled the breeze. The Captain said, “I know the name. He was Morgoth, yes?”

Listracht pulled out of his reverie and said, “They say the most powerful and terrible being to ever stalk the earth. It took all of the Valar, men and Elves to barely beat him. I don’t know much more. He was said to be destroyed well before his servant Sauron came up in the world.

Nag Kath added, “I suppose it matters more what he is to these people. The Captain said Melkor now leads the Valar. We know better. We need tidings, and those might be a while in coming.”

Listracht said, “Like in Mordor. There is true power and there are those who claim it, both dangerous. Nag Kath, can you feel such things?”

“I think so. Here is our new plan; the Ship is now the Fûl.”

Penandoth asked, “The Fool?”

The Elf grinned, “Close enough. Please have this carved onto new prow boards before we dock.” He took the sheet he showed Voulshuh and pointed at the Visitors' symbol. “From now on, we are exactly what Mr. Listracht and I claim to oppose. We are of the Yvsuldor, followers of the Witch-King of Angmar. He was Sauron’s servant. Sauron was Morgoth’s servant. If this Ar-Gimilzôr wants to outrank us, we will admit the error of our ways and be grateful for his instruction.” He made a note to hide all of the Tar-Palantir nippers since he was a bitter enemy of those who became the King’s-Men.

Nag Kath continued, “From now on, I am Nag Solvanth, the arrogant, witless son of a savvy Pelargir merchant. I have small powers in the service of the Witch-King. Captain, you are exactly as you seem, trying to turn a profit with side orders to make something of me. I will become entranced by the new order of things here and you must tolerate it because you get a large bonus for returning me to my loving family alive.

“Mr. Listracht, you are also my father’s counselor or servant at need and will stay with me trying to talk sense into my thick head. At other times you will be the High Visitor while looking for Orlo.”

New High Visitor Listracht said grimly, “Methinks the disdained south bank is the likely wager for those chafing at Lord Melkor’s kindly rule. If they are here, they will be watching the ship.”

The Elf closed saying, “Captain Penandoth, keep a sharp eye for little harbors where you can lay up while the foolish son wastes your time. Make it comfortable and out of the way. You will be in charge of the bribes. We were just told the harbormaster’s wife is fond of jewelry.”

The Captain told woodworker Soldient to carve new name boards. Nag Kath took a candle to the bilge for a small ballast stone and spent the next morning chiseling strange markings into one side.

Like others in this gulf, the river harbor was a long funnel of mostly mud shoreline with occasional rock outcroppings. There were settlements on both banks with a small island nearer the south. The newly-named Fûl followed a merchant galley past it and saw two small patrol boats come to intercept them. Penandoth ordered them to bring in sail and they drifted as the boats rowed alongside.

A young man called from the deck in the curious Sindarin dialect, “You are new here. State your business!”

Nag Kath replied, “We are men of the north come to trade and pay our respects to Lord Ar-Gimilzôr.”

That seemed to be the right answer. The fellow talked with someone on deck a moment and said, “Continue to the orange dock on the starboard side with the other deep water craft. Speak to the Harbormaster.”

Nag Kath asked, “What is his name, best of sirs?”

“Benigrautha. He will find you.”

It was still several hours with the breeze in their favor. Both mates were watching the wind closely wondering how to tack their way out of the tight bay without getting within ballista-range of the banks. They saw a number of merchant vessels but it wasn’t until they made the main wharves that they saw more war ships. Two sail galleys were moored before what they took to be the orange dock. Ninety feet long and broad abeam, they would be serious customers if they caught you upwind.

One was empty but for the deck guard. The other was fully crewed and they stared to a man until an officer told them to get busy. Second Mate Kevland noticed out-loud, “I count three ballista on this side and another aft. If there is a ramming spike below the line, it is hidden to my eyes.”

The orange dock had a large sign on pier posts in that color. It was in Sindarin but written in the fashion of Adûnaic, an almost Dwarvish block style. It wasn’t long before a retinue of well-dressed officers arrived. One must be Benigrautha. His second announced formally, “Prepare for inspection.”

This was anticipated. There were no references to any of the Valar on board but there were a few hastily painted symbols of the Witch-King where they would be found. As arranged, Penandoth approached with a bow and said in Westron that he commanded. 

The Harbormaster seemed piqued. Nag Kath heard him tell his officers something to the effect that these peasants did not honor the proper tongue. His most senior man tried in a pigeon version of Sindarin, not unlike the language Nag Kath’s comical scholar reputedly spoke in Mordor. He proclaimed in dramatic fashion, “This is Harbormaster Benigrautha. He will inspect your cargo!”

A nose rub from the Elf had Penandoth smile and say, “Certainly, sirs. Mate Kevland, take these fellows below.”

Only two of them went. The more soldierly two stayed on deck and made obvious mental notes of the curious vessel. Crew on deck treated them no differently than customs-men at any other port-of-call. The ship conspicuously had no double walls or other false panels.

Below deck, the Harbormaster ordered a crate opened. Crew dragged it into the light of the open hatch and pried the top off revealing fine wool fabric, thought to be scarce here. The man felt it carefully and ordered it closed. As if it came to him then, the mate opened a small chest containing some nice but inexpensive necklaces and earrings. Benigrautha grabbed a handful with no effort to get matching pieces and stuffed them in his inside robe pocket. Never changing his expression, they made their way back on deck. The next senior man declared, “The docking tax is ten rhules.”

Since they knew money might be different here but likely based on the Numenorean currency everywhere, Penandoth had First Mate Jeurgans bring a locked box with a scattering of silvers and groats on the top tray. The functionary pointed at one of the silvers and held up both palms with all fingers. There were nine silvers on the tray so the mate scooped them up and Penandoth pulled another from his pocket to round-up the total. A soldier tacked a wooden sign to the dockside rail showing the ship had been inspected and the party climbed down the boarding plank without ever looking back.

___________------___________

It was time for the owner’s indolent son to taste the fruits of Bozisha-Dar.

Nag Kath slipped off the ship in broad daylight, expecting to be followed. Unarmed, he made no effort at stealth. From the harbor, the city stretched almost due east along the southern river-mouth. Buildings were not built for large swings in the tide but some showed high-water marks at almost head-level.

Most structures were a cream white in varying states of upkeep. The commercial docks were largely single-story go-downs but the businesses and later homes in the better section often had two levels. Flowers were everywhere. People were too. They stared at him, which was not unusual, but he was closer to them than the Haradrim. He smiled back. For the most part, the better-dressed looked like men of the north, which he supposed they used to be. Southrons were clad with more of that influence but with gayer colors. Neither seemed particularly down-trodden. 

It wasn’t until he got within a quarter mile of what must be the palace that he saw his first temple. Nag Kath slipped inside. A keeper was on a stool, avoiding direct sun. Next to him was a small, wooden bowl on a stand. The Elf dropped five lonely groats in and the fellow nodded with the trace of a smile.

There were no windows. Come to that, he hadn’t seen many walking up. It was like the inn in Tharbad where you used louvered shutters or they were wide open. Elf eyes helped in the darkness. A small altar was on the long end. Nag Kath bowed to it, hoping that showed proper respect, and then looked for marking or symbols of the reigning power.

He found one. Acting the ignorant tourist, he asked the attendant in Sindarin, “I am visiting. What is this table, sir?”

The fellow answered, “The Place of Return.” He was more understandable than the lords of ship-bribery. 

Nag Kath continued, “And this symbol, good sir? It is hard to see in this light.”

The man looked askance and decided it was an innocent question. “The Valar, of whom mighty Melkor is supreme.”

The Elf pulled a match from his vest pocket and thought better of scratching it on the mighty Melkor’s face so he struck it on his boot to ask the man of the symbol. The porter must have never seen a match before and it was almost out before he pointed to the highest lord’s glyph inside the ornate design. Nag Kath gave the man his own match. He broke the first and tried four times with the next until it lit but that was the pinnacle of his day. With his other hand he dragged a fingernail along the dark one’s line before the match got too hot. The Elf bowed and gave him a dozen more matches for his pains. 

Walking up the street the homes got larger. So did a pair of what he took to be the local guardi. They stared but only nodded, unmotivated to assert arbitrary power in the hot sun. At what he thought might be the twelve-bell at home, Nag Kath found a restaurant that smelled like baked fish. He took a chair on the patio for a look at the city moving around him. There was no menu. You got what they cooked until it ran out. Fare was the long, thin silver fish they had hooked off the back deck for the last week. It was spiced, including something that made the mouth warm like the sauces of Yhammâs Fruhir, served with the same little white grains of the southern sea coast and a green of some sort. The cool tea was green and quite weak compared to the darker brews of home.

It was another quarter-bell before the lunch patrons arrived. Most seemed to be shop-keepers with enough authority to leave for a while. They stared at him too, but not suspiciously and not very long. Most shoveled down the modest helpings and were out the door with the last bite. One fellow past the need for gainful employment savored his lunch and smiled.

Nag Kath smiled back and asked his server the charge. It came to three groats. Groats were called groats. He paid a fiver to show he was pleased and walked back to the ship with his head full of notions.

What a curious place! He thought it about twenty thousand souls, not including four or five small harbors lining the route. There were probably more of them further in as well. He would look. There were elements of clothing that seemed northern but more colors, perhaps more natural dyes or lighter fabrics? Women were not covered head-to-toe as they were in farmlands to the north. Most wore shawls either over their heads or as scarves. He got a few relatively brazen appraisals from ladies who usually traveled with several others but not with male protectors.

The Elf was glad he left his sword on the ship since other men were seldom armed. Soldiers wore long-swords. He saw only three bowmen, all staying close to a wall Nag Kath did not investigate.

This land was said to worship the darkest of dark lords but it seemed like the Khandian capital with fish. Nag Kath knew a bit about dark lords. People did not seem ready to flinch at the whip of old Sauronic lands. They might change their tune about good-old Melkor after hauling grain-sacks to Gorgoroth. Melkor was a tormentor of Elves, primarily, since men were in the early years of their development. The Elves took their records with them so that was conjecture.

Of all those left in Middle-earth, only three knew what Melkor looked like before he was Morgoth, and one of them lived alone in a forest. As he got closer to the wharf, Nag Kath noticed a temple he hadn’t seen on the way up. A peek inside woke no attendant so he hurried over to the altar and rubbed charcoal over a sheet of thin paper for the outline. 

The crew seemed none the worse for the wait. Fish was cooking on deck when he returned. Mate Jeurgans said an occasional guardi-looking fellow wandered by but didn’t scowl or act important. They timed his rounds. Another ship docked just behind them. Men carried sacks or boxes along the pier to wagons at the gate pulled by some of the sorriest donkeys of Harad. Mostly things were carried by people. Several men with baskets held by a strap around their necks offered fruits and cakes. They were darker-skinned than most Nag Kath had seen and spoke something closer to Southron than Elvish. Sadly for the crew; one thing no one seemed to carry by any means was ale. 

That evening Listracht observed, “Well, this is different than Mordor. From what little I know, Sauron told the King’s-men to worship Morgoth. Some came to Middle-earth as conquerors, some came faithful to the Valar and most got a dunking for their presumption.”

Nag Kath laid out the tracing for the senior crew and Listracht to see and asked, “Seen this before?” He traced the Melkor part with his nail.

They shook their heads. Penandoth said, “That Harbormaster does more than check bowlines. I would wager he is more of a lordling than in the mud-flats of the Ethir. 

Second Mate Kevland agreed, “Aye, his da landed soft.”

The Elf said, “I wasn’t watched at all. We need to attract some attention – let this harbor-man earn his keep. My thoughts are; we have some loud, smoky ritual to our lesser Witch-King and sell a few of our wares in the market – see who notices. Sayer Listracht, how would you like to be the High Visitor onboard for observances?”

The bald man grinned, “I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”

___________------___________

Nag Kath kept exploring the town the next morning. Folk were not hand-shy though not chatty. That evening the crew stage-managed a production that would not challenge a proper Catanard but drew a crowd. Listracht donned a hastily-sewn outer cloak of different symbols and began loudly incanting amidships as the Evenstar came into view. Pinches of firework powder from a rocket were put in bowls and lit with a punk every so often causing small, colorful bursts of light with large, annoying clouds of smoke. The crew gathered around to repeat calls Nag Kath had coached them in the Black Speech. Pronounced by men of the west it sounded nothing like the original, but it didn’t sound like anything else either.

It took nearly half a bell for the local authorities to arrive. The Harbormaster must have gone home but his night-man was spoiling for a fight. Any kind of fire, never mind blasphemous fire, was discouraged on a wharf of wooden ships. The fellow trooped up with half a dozen guardi and demanded, “What are you simpletons doing? This is a dangerous!”

Nag Kath called, “We observe the ritual of Fûl to honor the dark servant, sir.”

“What nonsense is that?!”

“Once per week, at the end of the day of atonement, we are called to respect he who still holds power over the earth.”

The official barked, “Do this again and we will see how high you float!” The man turned on his heels with the toadies flanking. Sailors on the ship just past an empty berth seemed to be smiling.

Listracht slipped his vestments over his head, “Someone noticed.”

Penandoth quipped, “I suppose that makes me the merchant. I’ll have a couple lads take some eye-catching things and find a market stall near the lordly. In my humble experience, there is nothing the high ruler hates more than those beneath him gaining fine things he doesn’t have.”

Listracht thought of the women he saw walking by and added, “Have them cut a good price for the ladies. I suspect they squeeze low fruit in the merry port of Bozisha-Dar!”

___________------___________

Crewmen Yeltzyr and Ubier Peristonig went to market. One was tall and fair, the other short and swarthy, both much smarter than they were to appear. They had one of the right languages and none of the wrong ones. Their instructions were to spend a day or two finding the nicest market in the city, bribing the square master or guild if they had such things here for a space and selling an assortment of useful or decorative items to the fancy including; jewelry, fine woolens, fire-glasses and reading spectacles. At Mr. Solvanth’s suggestion, that included boxes of matches and they should light a few to attract attention.

Both of their efforts worked in one fashion or another. The morning after the theatrical flashes, a middle-aged man in immaculate clothes wandered by the Fûl one too many times. He was stern, dangerous and had no business among the barefoot stevedores. In the meantime, Yeltzyr and Ubier had a gay time misunderstanding people who would not take no for an answer. The matches were a sensation. Yeltzyr had a briarwood pipe and a pouch of leaf, occasionally lighting-up by dragging a match along the paving stones or flicking it with his thumbnail. They burned pieces of straw with the fire-glasses. Men gathered to try the absurd face-wires that let them see things the way they had as youngsters. They sold everything they brought by lunch saying they would return tomorrow. The men knew they found the right market when one woman walked-off with a necklace and matching earrings made of Garvas stones without asking the price, leaving her female attendant to count out the silvers. Money talks to money so the word would get around.

After the display in the market, they could have sold goods off the side of the Swan but the crewmen went back to the same stall, bribed the same guildsman and opened for business. This time they brought some of the better jewelry.

The news was out. A number of important men and women gathered and the crowd parted for them as the first viewers of the day. The sailors enjoyed making a hash of the language and negotiations but were told not to come ship-side until they sold all their wares with promises to return next week after resupplying. That’s how Lentaraes would have done it. Slightly against instructions, they could not discover if folk wanted to trade ale for their merchandise.

As they were leaving for the market, the grave official returned to the ship with four men along who looked a sight more disciplined than the guardi trying to avoid daytime sun. The man called from the dock demanding to see the Captain. Penandoth walked amidships and said he was Captain in Westron, the only tongue he had. As planned, neither of them could make sense of the other so Listracht was summoned with no success. With a roll of his eyes, Nag Solvanth was collected from below.

The official repeated himself, “You will explain your desecration of the high lord the other day.”

The Elf replied, “We are followers of Fûl, Lord of the Nazgûl.”

By the man’s arrogance and assurance, this could only be the high priest of whatever passed here for lore. He decried, “That is a blasphemy! High Melkor holds sway here, as all men know!”

Nag Kath held his chin, “We are come from the north where servants of the Witch-King still have visible power. Our understanding is that Melkor was destroyed.”

The man bristled, “You could be boiled alive for such lies.”

It was time to set the hook. Nag Kath considered that and told a waiting crewman to produce the bilge rock before saying, “See, here is one of Yvsuldor’s stones.” He took it in one hand and it glowed enough silver to be make the officials shade their eyes.

In an attempt at reconciliation he added, “If the servants of the greatest lord return to his further his purpose, perhaps we are in accord, mister … ?”

The man said in a huff, “That remains to be seen. Be here when I return tomorrow!”

With that he turned on his heel and led his hard soldiers up the quay.

Listracht watched them go and chuckled, “He’s in arse deep. Did you see his eyes when your hand lit-up?”

“Umhmmm. High Visitor Listracht, I think we should see the nightlife in Bozisha-Dar.”

___________------___________

That evening Listracht and Nag Kath slipped off the ship and followed their noses to a workingman’s restaurant. There was ale, in only the most charitable use of the term. It was not served until after sundown. Listracht puckered his face, “They could have left this in the donkey.”

The Elf had a sip and made less of a frown but took a pull of his tea directly. After swishing his tongue in his mouth, he said, “I wish I knew more of these Numenoreans. For a time, they ruled supreme. The book said some of the Nazgûl were their most terrible sorcerers. So how did they end up down here?”

Listracht ventured another gulp and grimaced, “They kept losing. I am more interested in how they think Melkor walks the halls of the Holy Ones. I should think he is clanking his cup in the gaol.”

The Elf thought about that. “This Lord Ar-Gimilzôr must have some of the same questions. Let us discover if he has rocks of his own. I might even have a nipper of the original bastard. Do you suppose they will sell us that little cask to take back to the Swan?”

“The Fûl?”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t until nearly high-sun that the Arbiter returned, this time with six men. He ordered Nag Kath to come with him. It would not do without his Sayer. Both men tried to bring cargo swords but the guards weren’t having that. 

The train walked without another word all the way to the area Nag Kath thought was the palace on his first excursion. Guards clad much like those of the Gondoran white-tree sentinels stood at a series of three gates. They opened the doors on sight and the Righters and Arbiter’s men trooped to a grand, mansion reached by thirteen fanned steps. It opened onto a room not unlike the entry in Orthanc except for more open windows and cream-white stone. The Arbiter spoke briefly with a man also in robes and a blue cap who retreated down a corridor. Their man walked back over, jutting his chin in importance. 

The Chamberlain or Herald returned after a while and nodded. The guests, Arbiter and all six guards followed him to a throne room of white but with black stone fittings. On the seat of power sat an old cove also wearing black with a crown of silver, possibly mithril. One gnarled hand gripped a miter in his lap. He leaned forward to better see the men brought to his justice. They both bowed deeply and stood at civilian-quality attention.

The Arbiter formally announced, “Most High, these are the men who defamed our lord Melkor!”

The ruler nodded and the Arbiter took his leave. The guards stayed.

For a few moments the old man did nothing. Finally, he curled his fingers towards him to summon the two men closer. In Sindarin he said, “So, you think to bring your backward ways to the last of Numenor?”

It was up to Nag Kath from here, “Nay, my Lord. We serve he who serves the highest of lords.”

The old boy took some time clearing his throat but asked, “And who might this servant be?”

“He is the Witch-king of Angmar, sir. His strength grows in northern lands against weak Elessar.”

“Why come you here?”

Nag Kath said with some hauteur, “Now that King’s-men retake our lands, we come to trade and see which of our kin remain loyal servants.”

The man was still for a long time. On the wide range of possibility; the lord was a true believer and devoted to restoring the rule of their chosen Ainur. On the other, he was a ruthless despot using age-old terror to cow his peoples. Nag Kath would try to be useful either way but his main purpose was to see if the old man had his own glowing rocks.

The Lord grew angry, “How dare you surmise!”

Unbowed, Nag Solvanth said respectfully, “The Yvsuldor makes his power clear to us. Forgive me, high sir, we come in common purpose. May I ask how Lord Melkor makes his will known? Perhaps these ARE his tools, wielded through those who keep them.”

The man grumbled, “I will consider this. You will stay here until I send for you.” He gestured to the guards who allowed the visitors to bow again before escorting them to the far wing of the palace.

___________------___________

Listracht looked around the quarters in awe, “How is it that the nicest place I’ve ever stayed is a prison?” Their lodgings were not where his Lordship tossed scofflaws. A large central room, beautifully appointed in carpets, was between separate bedrooms. Nag Kath would have no trouble getting out of the third-story window but no one else could without a rope.

As the sun set, two women brought platters of food. Not nubiles of Ûrêzáyan; both were stout gals with flat faces who kept their dispositions to themselves. Still, the meal was edible. Nag Kath checked both plates with a quick wave of his hand for poison before they ate. 

Listracht had no trouble gnawing his half chicken to the bone. With a belch he said in Khandian, “Nag, we’ve seen a few troops and the guards, but I haven’t heard so much as a squeak from line soldiery.”

“You are sharper than me, my friend. I hadn’t noticed, though even a light Marine fleet could make short work of those two pig-boats facing the wrong way.”

Listracht had some of the white grain, “I wondered as well. I must say, this Bozisha-Dar is a grander place than I’ve ever lived. Do you suppose the poor folk are kept out of view?”

“Maybe with the soldiers. That river mouth goes much further back. Now, when I should have been paying attention, I thought of our lord, all wrinkled and wan. Had he so much as a Dwarf Ring, he would cut a more impressive figure.”

Listracht said, “Let us consider that he is made to look like the king and the true villain watches from elsewhere.”

“That or they are the last of their kind, keeping Southrons from the door with the craft of greater sires. This foolishness with Melkor; I need to discover if there is cause.”

Listracht looked around his cell, “One thing is certain, someone is paying the bills. This hovel is a sight fairer than Sauron’s old haunts, except for the women of Khand, not that a right-living man would know of such diversions.” He grinned.

The Elf reflected, “We will give and get. Do not forget I am a witless merchant’s son here to be made a man. Tomorrow, Captain will seek what these folk have to trade. From what I have seen of most women here, he needs to get those lads away from the city, somewhere where they can enjoy the hospitality discreetly.”

The next day they were called before the seated ruler. This time, a younger man sat in a lower chair next to him. The face was quite different but the hair reminded Nag Kath of Shurat Maedos with the shock of white against jet black. He was modestly but expensively dressed in dark clothes and wore no hat or cap. He also wore no obvious emblems of lordship.

The old man pointed at Nag Kath with a wizened hand and said, “You will show me the sorcery you claim from your Lord’s device.”

Both travelers looked at each other before the Elf said, “Your pardon, sir, we were not told to bring it. It is but a common Yvsuldor stone, though. My servant can collect it and return here.”

The old boy talked with the younger man quietly and said, “We will consider that shortly. Before then, why do you claim it has power from the Angmarach?”

“I beg pardon, sir. I do not know that term.”

The elder seemed frustrated, “Angmarach! Servitor of Angmar!”

“Oh, there are battlefields of his dead waiting in spirit form to return at his call. They grow more active each passing day. Friends in Rhûn, Khand, Mordor itself prepare for instruction. Folk can see them.”

The next line was crucial. Nag Kath had to be respectful but also hoist something of a challenge against these men’s assertions of a resurrected Melkor. “The Angmarach is giving us plain tools, perhaps for his own purpose or perhaps to further his highest Lord. What signs have you seen here, sirs?” 

In Dukks, that was enough of a wager on strong cards that opponents either had to match the bet or concede the hand. Their own Arbiter had seen credible sorcery or they wouldn’t be here. In the parlance of the game, without ladies present, it was time to ‘check the eggs’. 

The Numenoreans choices were slim. They could bluster and claim their lordship did not require them to make their case to ignorant foreigners. They could threaten to return the Visitors’ heads to their ship. They could make any number of excuses, but anything less than backing their claim was weakness. They probably also wanted to know else what these voyagers had in their bag of tricks.

The younger man spoke for the first time with a more difficult accent than the elder. “Please excuse our lack of courtesy, esteemed guests. Your appearance was unexpected. Indeed, you may be a rivulet that creates the river of awakening long sought. Have your servant return with the stone. We will see how it comports with such craft as we possess.”

Nag Kath translated that for Listracht along with telling Penandoth to stay in port unless the authorities made that uncomfortable. Listracht bowed as a servant should, a reliable disguise, and then bowed to the host before shambling out the double-doors. The man with the white blaze stood to say, “While you wait, you may follow this man where food will be brought.” His nod served as dismissal and a rather pretty male door guard walked Nag Kath to a small meal room down a new corridor. Now, had this lad some measure of Elf?

The Elf was shown to quarters much nearer-by. The table would seat eight but he was the only one there. It might have been a quarter-bell before two servants came in with covered trays of food. Nag Kath seldom ate lunch but would have some of whatever it was in respect. What made this interesting was; the servers. They seemed to have elements of orc in them, the way they walked and the way their noses flattened against their faces, perhaps the males of the serving women yesterday.

Nag Kath gave them a farm-boy smile and took his pen-knife out of his pocket to cut his meat. It showed no blue. Were they part orc? Had they been cleansed as he had? They didn’t seem surly enough for real orcs so he thanked them with a nod and took the cover off the first plate.

It was good too, and far too much to eat even half. It came with the same weak green tea that probably all peoples made in one way or another to boil drinking water. The room had no ornamentation. That was unusual. Most rooms in a palace seen by any but the staff had art or paneling or something to suggest it wasn’t a barn. When he finished, he walked to the one large window. It faced east, a different direction than last night’s quarters. At this height he could see a huge swath of genuine forest stretching as far as the horizon. That would explain how they controlled shipping in the Gulf of Harad, food too. It did not seem an ominous wood. 

Waiting, he thought he might do more than seek evil. These people claimed to be the purest survivors of the greatest mannish civilization; the height of navigation, celestial observation, counting and governance. Most craft dated well before Sauron’s influence. The quest must take precedence, but Nag Kath would also study good things that had been lost to men of the north through all the myriad ways men lose things.

A less orcish attendant walked in and took him to return to the throne room. Listracht was holding the bilge rock and bowed wordlessly, putting on a pair of the trade spectacles and ostentatiously picking lint out of one of the carvings before handing it to his master. Their hosts received bows from the Yvsuldors. The old man said harshly, “So then, this is the device you claim brings you closer to the Angmarach?”

“Yes, my Lord. Forgive me, sirs, but we do not even know his name. Have you heard it in your scholarship?”

The younger man said, “Ar-Balkumagân, thought slain in battle against the Gondor.”

That was a mouthful, young man! Nag Kath did not know his Numenorean kings, but he knew from Éomander’s book that ‘Ar’ meant ruler. And that this elegant man volunteered it suggested he sought information. The Elf made a show of repeating the name to Listracht so he could rummage through the cash to see if there was a nipper or Florin with his likeness. 

Nag Kath asked, “May I approach the dais, noble sirs?”

The old man waved him up. Nag Kath walked close enough for the seated Lords to inspect his rude carvings in the stone. This was not his better artwork but a fair match for the stone he destroyed. The symbols were purposely in the wrong order in the event sorcerers here could draw from them. The Elf explained, “Three of the eight runes are important; Fûl for power, then patience, last is war, each in the proper measure.” He handed the stone to the geezer who hefted it like a bilge rock and gave it to the younger man. 

The white-blaze did try to divine power but appeared to make nothing of it. Nag Kath felt a thin surge. Before he lit the counterfeit stone, he would be far enough away so the man couldn’t tell what was stone and what was Elf.

The old one rasped, which seemed to be his speaking voice, “What does it do?”

Nag Kath had days to position his demonstration. What worked in Mordor might work here. A narrative would emerge that this hallowed stone signified the Witch-King’s presence among the worthy. The intensity gauged the effect. Of course, he could light his dinner plate the same way, but these men didn’t need to know that.

The hook was that it was only a search beacon, not a coming. Visitor servants sought similar talismans to gather humors of strength. Men of Arnor with small powers to transmit the source weren’t uncommon nowadays, but he was the only one on this boat.

Taking the stone back, the Elf looked around where the ceiling met columns as a show of positioning himself correctly. Then he raised his hand and made the bilge-rock glow with his normal silver summoning. It was brighter inside than it had been on the docks. 

Nag Kath borrowed from the comic wizard in the Catanard, staggering slightly and ending the light, putting his thumb and fingers to either side of his nose. Sure the Lords were watching intently, he handed the stone back to Listracht and said somewhat unsteadily, “I sought confirmation that King Ar-Balkumagân has presence here. This was stronger than I have felt before. Perhaps he is near ... Your pardon, good sirs. I … I must rest now.”

He waited until they nodded and then unevenly walked back towards his new quarters led by his faithful man and two of the guards.

His servant laid him in bed, saying solicitously in Rhûnic, the best of all languages for swearing, “That was a proper goat’s breakfast, revered master. I thought the old boy would pee himself.”

Nag Kath croaked feebly, “Your tongue will get you banned from better taverns. What did the youngster do?”

“Nothing.”

Listracht started taking his master’s boots off. Nag Kath thanked him by saying, “Then he is our man. I think he has some power. Next we must see what he thinks it will bring.” The Elf leaned back with a pained groan while his servant put his boots at the foot of the bed. Listracht looked for tea. Finding none, he walked outside and gestured drinking to one of the guards who waited until an attendant walked by to have him fetch some.

The right-living soldier said in soothing tones, “So, how long before you are recovered if I am asked, Mr. Solvanth?”

“I need a quiet look around here tonight. Tomorrow morning I should be right as rain. What news of the ship?”

"Capt’n broke out a cup of wine last night and a little pipe-weed. Men are patient but they are still sailors. Bosun’s keeping them on board. First Mate is wandering the markets seeing what these folk sell themselves and what they might like.”

Nag Kath leaned back in the bed with feigned exhaustion saying, “We have lovely serving wenches.”

Listracht was excited until dinner was brought by the same men with orcish faces. Just to see if they could speak, Nag Kath asked as squire of the manor, “You, what is this meat called?”

The creature came over and said with mannish teeth, “That is flesh of the boar, honored guest.”

"Is this from here in your homeland?"

The server answered, "It is from here. My homeland is far to the west."

Were they the folk to avoid? The Elf grunted his understanding and the two northerners were left with their thoughts. As soon as the door closed, Listracht said, “Ugly as the back of a …”

“Charity, right-liver. Remember the lessons of Dostrenes. I thought they were orcs but they aren’t. Let us wait until dark.”

___________------___________

Even barefoot, Nag Kath had trouble keeping quiet on slick stone floors. He confused the door guard and crept down the hall to the throne room. It was unguarded. The thrones themselves had no humors. He got no sense of power in the room at all. Sneaking down the corridor the men came from was also cold and also devoid of any art or decoration. About to return to the room, he passed one smaller annex that did have a number of wall-hangings. The window let in almost no moon. The best he could tell these were more stern Numenorean Kings scowling for posterity. A look in daylight would tell more.

The next morning, servant Listracht told the guard that his master was recovered and could attend their Lordships. Half a bell later, fresh guards brought the two men to the throne-room. After obeisance, Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, sirs. That was difficult. The stone tells the presence of the Witch-King’s spirit. It was strong but also seemed to be seeking something on its own, as if drawn to a kindred power.”

The younger man, “So, you are a vessel for this stone?”

“Only that it may pass through me. A more experienced Sayer could tell you more than my sorry effort.”

The old man this time; “What does it seek?”

“I cannot say, esteemed sir. This is new. Does your realm have artifacts that could draw the stone to them?”

The old man growled, “Give me the rock. I will see what it brings!”

The locals seemed to expect a fight. Nag Kath shrugged his shoulders and told his servant to deliver the ballast-stone. The Lords walked down the far corridor and left the visitors standing. After a half-bell, with both Visitors straining not to laugh out loud, the Lords of Bozisha-Dar returned. The old one huffed, “This is a fraud! The stone has no power.”

The question was if he knew or was bluffing. Knowing was much more interesting so Nag Kath would pursue that line of defense. “I do not think it has any power of its own. It passes power through humble persons like me. Since it is of no use to you, can I interest you in a supply of fine woolens?”

If there was anything to this claim of Melkor, the peddler’s effete son essentially implied that the dark one could repay their truculence with wrath for delaying his revival. Radagast explained Morgoth was relegated to the void, whatever that was. He clearly was not restored to the Valar since hated Arien still brought her sun to grace Middle-earth.

But the tall blonde also shined with power and said the stone sought something. If nothing else, there might be value in his pale, indifferent hand. The young merchant stood there either waiting to get his rock back or trudge to the ship and chalk a mark on his slate. And he could stand there longer than they could sit. Finally the old man growled, “Return tomorrow for dinner. We have other things to discuss.”


	7. Friends in Far Places

**_Chapter 7_ **

**_Friends in Far Places_ **

Second Mate Kevland welcomed the returning servants of Fûl effusively and had a man fetch fresh tea. After seeming to have nothing to do long enough to bore any watchers in the warehouses across the docks, the mates, Captain, Dal, Listracht and Elf gathered in a circle on the rear-castle.

Listracht gave his assessment, “If these lads have any sway with dark lords lost in the mist, we did not see it. Their guards are competent and sober. The fellow who brought me here and back yesterday seemed to know his business. Pikemen carry a dirk. Others carry full swords. I only saw four archers near the gate. The shifts change about every four-bells. It is hard to tell here. A determined party of a hundred could take the palace in surprise.”

Nag Kath held his chin, “I saw some of the same things. What perplexes me is what I did not see; there were no hangers-on. I’ve been in every palace of the world now. All of them have men who seem to be waiting for orders or petitions or delivering cheese, usually in each others’ way. I saw none of that here. After you have conquered a place, rulers have to make sure the water wells work and settle squabbling nobles. List, did you see any such comings and goings?”

Listracht pulled his own bearded chin and answered, “A few more than you, but no, there were no idle servants waiting on their Lord’s slightest whim.”

First Mate Juergans said, “We may have other interest from our little demonstration. A woman has walked past twice, paying special attention to the new name board. She is unremarkable in every way, which makes me think that is meant.”

Nag Kath asked, “What times of day?”

“Once after what might be the nine-bell and again nearing dusk. I will point her out if she returns.”

Second Mate thought he should mention; “About those bells; the days are getting longer.”

Everyone turned to him so he added, “Not long past the little town we visited on the coast, the sun readings started getting longer, by about as much as they had gotten shorter further north. Might that be in hand with new stars to the south?”

Penandoth nodded and speculated, “Perhaps the Lady Varda travels differently across southern skies. I have noticed the breeze is more southerly at times.” The Captain turned to both mates and said, “Let us ask other mariners of those winds and storms. As to trade goods, I could not get a look in those warehouses.” Penandoth whistled and called, “Yeltzyr, Ubier!” The two deckhands trotted up and were told to sit. The Captain asked, “I think we know these folk will buy whatever we brought. Did you get a sense of what they have besides money?”

Yeltzyr mulled that and answered, “Same sized money as us, mostly the same coins. Didn’t get a look at any gold. One man wanted to trade what looked a very fine linen or other weave for a quantity of fire-stones.”

Ubier nodded too and continued, “It was the sort of fabric used in windows to keep insects from entering. The wealthiest of Umbar proper wear it gaily colored for it is light and smooth but very tough, made of moth wrappings, I believe. We watched the other stalls and peddlers with asses. They sold mostly food or fabric, the same sorts of things you see everywhere.”

Yeltzyr added, “Not a single weapon. Many folk carried small knives but no swords or bows. The soldiers, guardi, more like, seemed to be looking for them.”

Listracht asked the group, “Any look at who is out after dark?”

Mate Kevland admitted, “Tierneis went out for vegetables and got back at dusk.” No one wondered why. “He felt a follower but he returned with a basket of greens and roots so no harm done.”

One of the deck guards gave the secret whistle. So everyone didn’t stare, Gharvies casually peered over the rail and saw a different woman carrying a parcel. She wasn’t well trained. People on the wharf bustled. She seemed more strolling, but not dressed well enough for leisure. The Elf sneaked a peek. Turning back to the group as if he had merely been leering, he said to Listracht, “I think we need more vegetables.”

The Righter nodded and silently padded down the gangplank with an empty basket after the woman reached the next ship. Yeltzyr muttered, “I am glad he is on our side.”

Nag Kath stretched his legs and changed the subject, “Tomorrow night I’m to present myself at the palace for dinner. List was right, if there is sorcery, it is hidden. I will go myself and let Listracht see what becomes of the curious shopper. He knows the ways of the right-livers in the north.”

Listracht did not slip up the plank until high-night. Second Mate had the watch and woke Penandoth. Dal was awake too and they congregated amidships to hear the tale. The Righter reported, “That was almost too easy. She wandered up the alleys at the same pace then went in a door and out another on the street-side. From there she hurried the other way and was admitted to a home. The door opened before she got there so she was expected, though I heard no one on the rooftops signaling. It is an educated guess, but I do not think anyone has paid much attention to this lot in a long time. 

“I had a look around; no symbols or other tells. An hour later, a gent leaves from the back door and goes to a finer home southwest, up the hill a few blocks. I saw no guardi or anyone else interested in either of them.” He grinned, “By then, it was too late to get more taters.”

Nag Kath asked, “What of the new home?”

“I don’t have your eyes, but it was a deal larger than most of the little huts on the way to the Lords. There was a garden in front. Were I a wagering-man, I think the local Righters found us. With Fûl carved in the prow, we are enemy now and need to watch for torches thrown into the sails.”

Penandoth looked at Dal, “Tell Yeltzyr and Ubier to take their wares door-to-door tomorrow along the warehouses. Let us see what else these folk have to trade, especially things not yet ready for delivery. Go with them and try to have a look at the smaller wharves we passed further west.”

“Aye, sir”

Listracht asked of the Elf, “Planning to do some visiting of your own?”

“We leave at dawn.”

___________------___________

It was nearly full sunup when Mrs. Oram walked into her garden room to close the shutters before the cooler air of night could escape. She saw Listracht sitting in one of the great chairs ready for breakfast. With a ‘heighh!’ she turned to flee and there was Nag Kath by the door she entered looking like he had already eaten his. 

The Elf said quietly in her tongue, “Do not fear. We are not here to harm you. May we have a word with your husband?”

Bravely, but unconvincingly, she protested, “There is no husband here. You have burgled the wrong house!”

The imposing blonde man approached her. Two steps back was as far as she could go before she reached the hungry guest and she debated whether to scream. The servants would arrive first and likely be killed. Then she would be killed as a witness. Nag Kath saved her further consideration by handing her a folded piece of paper and saying, “Give this to the husband who isn’t here. We will wait patiently.”

She took the note, gladder he had unblocked her way than what the message might say. Two minutes later, she returned behind a man still in his nightshirt and slippers carrying a curved sword. The northerners both thought him about fifty but in good condition. Nag Kath had taken a chair by Listracht. The husband glared but did not get closer. Finally he said, “This is an honest home. We have nothing worth taking!”

Listracht said in Variag, “He has not read the note.” The Right soldier stood and approached to within sword range, “Here, use mine” handing the fellow the reading spectacles off his nose. Holding a sword in one hand and putting on specs for the first time doesn’t come naturally. Finally, his wife took the sword while the villains watched so he could fumble with the unfamiliar spectacles. It was just the symbol of Orlo which he could have seen with naked eyes.

He looked at the intruders, at the note again and said firmly enough to be heard in the kitchen, “Ferishtand, tea for four, please.” He nodded to his wife, still fiercely gripping the sword, and whispered, “My dear, be at ease. These are favored guests.”

Mrs. Oram leaned the weapon against a corner so it wouldn’t frighten the domestics bearing tea and something hastily prepared to eat with it. He gestured for Listracht to resume his seat while he and the missus dragged wicker chairs over to join them.

No one said another word until a man and woman arrived with tea and a platter of thin crackers, only leaving after reassurance from their mistress. Then their host said to Listracht, “You are not expected, sirs.”

Nag Kath interrupted, “Forgive me, sir. My friend does not have your tongue.” The Elf had heard enough here to adapt to varied pronunciations but it was still a work in progress. We are followers of right-living from Gondor and Khand. Orlo suggested we lend such aid as we could.”

“Orlo is a symbol, not a man.”

“He is a spirit. I can speak to him.”

The fellow ventured, “How are you known to him?”

“My friend is Listracht. I am called Nag Kath.”

“Kath of the Trolls?”

In most other situations he would have hung his head but the Elf kept the initiative, “Yes, the same.”

The woman said, “We are Heraldin and Sophiel Oram, at your service. What is your purpose here?”

Listracht knew Nag Kath would include him when it mattered so he ate the little crackers two at a time. Nag Kath answered, “I followed Orlo’s invitation to visit. We had thought to find evidence of the Witch-King, but it seems the land is much taken with Morgoth." When they drew a blank he added, "Melkor. Now we must learn if that is a fraud or if there are remnants of either dark ones in these lands.

“Before I go any further, do not tell us of your friends in the event we are put to the question. For all you know, we are northern traders seeking goods to take home. If we need to meet again, choose a safer place.”

They nodded between them as the changeling brought Listracht up to speed.

Nag Kath continued, “I would know this; what is this business with Melkor being leader of the Ainur? Has there been anything to suggest that is more than bluster from the palace?”

Heraldin answered cautiously, “Perhaps in the deep eastern forests. Know this, men of the north; Bozisha-Dar is the western edge of lands that go two hundred leagues inland along the river valleys. You will only see here what traders of the Unworthy may see.”

Nag Kath gave that to Listracht and was asked to ask, “How does this sorcery manifest?”

“It is said; small pockets of power, as if a fog or smoke, beyond my ken.”

They spoke for an hour. Listracht ate every cracker. In readying to leave, Nag Kath said, “I am to dine with two men at the palace tonight. One old in black, the other younger with a shock of white in his hair. I have represented myself as a minor sorcerer in the service of the Witch-King.”

Sophiel, who seemed to have equal voice in right-living here, explained, “The old one is an honored uncle who administers the city. The younger one is Prince Tarquin. You are interested in his father. Do not expect him tonight.”

Listracht kept his eyes on the hosts and told Nag Kath, “They need to do better than strolling kitchen maids.”

The Elf translated, “Someone who has not been to the docks needs to come by daily offering local trinkets guaranteed to bring good fortune to ignorant foreigners.”

Coming as no surprise, there was a better way out than the window they crawled in. It led to an alley behind the home. The two northern sailors continued north a few blocks before returning to the quayside road.

___________------___________

Anticipating lordly summons, Nag Kath had a suit of civilian togs stowed in his cabin. Dal tried to remove the wrinkles. As usual, his long Elvish hair was pulled over his ears.

The two Lords had already been seated. With them was a beautiful but hard-looking woman dressed in clothes of ancient form. In this heat they looked uncomfortable. She had an arched eyebrow to rival Tal’s at her reddest. Across from her and next to him was a thin, middle-aged fellow in cooler fabrics. Bozisha-Dar was not a hand-shaking place. He nodded and said he was Mr. Rathbairn. Next to the woman was another, older woman whose face registered no expression at all. She was not introduced. 

The old uncle said, “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Solvanth.” Nag Kath was glad he hadn’t used his real name. The right-livers did not know how the story of the trolls came to this land but it had, so it was good this lot knew him by his alias. Some news of the north seeped down from the Haradrim with nothing for the northerlings in return.

The old boy continued, “We are curious of your tale. Perhaps you can share your thoughts in this more cordial setting.”

“Certainly, Lord Ar-Gimilzôr.” He now knew this fellow, when acting in the King's name, could use that title and regalia. “Before I impose on your graciousness, may I offer a token of my people’s respect?”

He could. The gift had been confiscated at the door so the blonde guest signaled the guard who brought the ornate box directly to Uncle. The man opened it and unsheathed an exquisite dagger done in a combination of Dwarvish and Elvish style, which are not easy to blend. A fine polished blade of Durinbard steel gleamed in the lamplight. It was a Princely offering and showed these merchants had more than glasses to burn ants. Uncle passed it to the assembled hosts except the traditionally-dressed lady. As they looked, Nag Kath said, “I am a traveling merchant but also a very minor servant of those who consider the Elessar’s rule obscene. As the Angmarach reveals himself more forcefully, subjects reconsider their loyalties. Men like myself counsel them.”

The younger woman asked, “Counsel in what way, Mr. Solvanth?”

So, she was more than furniture. There was a strong resemblance to the younger man. “The old ways are forgotten, My Lady. Those who pass lore from father to son recall better times. I am not one-such. I carry one of the stones to help our Lord find his allies.” He added the slightest suggestion in his gaze afterwards. If he was a merchant’s spoiled son, he would be looking for dockside companionship after long travel with smelly sailors. It earned him a nod as glacial as any She-Elf could have done.

Crassness established, Nag Kath continued, “You have a fair land, best of sirs, ladies. It seems green and lush upriver.”

The older woman replied, “It is fertile.”

A touchy subject! As she did not leave room to expand, Nag Kath shifted to his purpose, “I asked of the Lord Melkor onboard. He is not known to men of the north. It is said he was mostly of Elvish times and they are now returned to the west."

His lighthearted ignorance of the highest was sure to needle the old man. The elderly are attributed with patience and experience but, as often as not, they have only the experience earned before their patience ran-out. The uncle growled, “He was the greatest of all Lords! How is it possible that the infidels do not see what is in plain sight?!”

Pretending a modicum of contrition, Nag Kath said, “The records were all destroyed or taken by the Elves. Without Loresayers to guide, men rising from the ashes make their own tales and, in the end, believe them.” Part of that was to establish that he wasn’t an Elf. In the north, they were gone. Down here there might be herds of them. It didn’t seem a natural blend, but some of the old Elves were real bastards and might be exiled here with bad attitudes.

The younger man sought to reduce tensions and further his own inquiries. “I am curious, Mr. Solvanth; you made that stone glow. Is that a rare legacy of the Angmarach?”

“Not rare at all Lord …?”

“Tarquin. A humble servant.”

“No, not rare. The red-collared Ghorundals supply them. They knew I was coming here and thought to extend their hand to unmet friends of old. I am of far northern folk and have some of the old Elvish language.”

He knew that would rankle too. Sindarin was the language the Faithful. King’s-men were relegated to it when their preferred Adûnaic was dissipated in the exodus. Nag Kath tried some of that, sure to butcher the pronunciation, “Gimlun bêl nakhat-ze ‘nNê ... (A star shines on the hour of our meeting) delivered with another slight leer at the ice queen. He would save the Black Speech for whoever lived in that forest.

When the final course was served, Uncle rose and thanked him for coming almost before he finished chewing. Nag Kath nodded and bowed. The next time they called, he would see their cards.

___________------___________

While the sailor returned to the Fûl, the palace host remained seated. Tarquin offered, “I confess, I do not know what to make of this creature. He is ignorant to a fault, but I cannot help but think he could have use for father. Wise uncle Rathbairn, what say you?”

“I agree. Cousin?”

The plain woman considered before saying, “He is not what he seems, perhaps less than he seems, but you say you have seen sorcery from his barbarian hand.”

The older uncle confirmed, “Aye, he made that rock glow silver, but he said it was this Angmarach merely passing through. It drained him, which he said was unusual. That servant was a great King, founder of our own King’s-Men, very powerful. Even in spirit, he was Sauron’s ablest minion.”

The beauty said flatly, “If we allow that this vulgar stripling conducts Ar-Balkumagân, the question is whether the Numenorean seeks to return as King of our people or in furtherance of his former employers. Myself, I am content with neither. Resurrected leaders of this world or the next always replace their predecessors.”

Rathbairn, silent through most of the meal, was practical, “I suppose we should let this unravel. Ears in the market say they have useful goods to trade and seek like cargo to take home. What do we have that the uncouth northerners might fancy?”

The plain woman condescended, “You need to speak with a merchant, cousin. These men are of low station. Let them deal among themselves.”

“Correct, as always, my dear. I will ask friends in the city who can treat with them.”

Tarquin advised, “Nothing quick, mind. Give me time to return to Bozisha-Kantû and speak with father.” Older brothers can never resist goading little sisters, even ice-Princesses, “It seems the blonde stallion was sweet on you, Tsial-dra. Perhaps that furthers our interests.”

A loving sister of the north would laugh or act appalled. This one glowered. Teasing her was not as much fun as it used to be. 

“Not much, List. I am sure I created some interest and managed to mildly insult everyone around the table. A woman like our forest Prince was stunning but would frost your lips in the kissing.”

Listracht and Penandoth agreed that there were three separate lines of attack. Nag Kath had the palace and points east. The Captain had to make this look like a legitimate trading run and probably lay up where the men could relax in ways sailors like. His excuse could be the exorbitant docking fees here in the city proper. Against that; they paid in advance and liberally greased the Harbormaster’s palm.

Listracht had Orlo. Other than not speaking the language, he was born for intrigue. If this lot had any remaining connection to the north, there might be those who spoke Rhûnic, Variag or Plainstongue, possibly disdained Westron. Southron could be interpreted. The Orams were choosing their messengers now.

The next day, Rathbairn spoke with Hu-Cirandal, master of the merchant’s exchange. Bozisha-Dar did not have guilds in the western fashion but the same monopolies form in any economy. The fat old trader sipped his constant cool tea and replied, “Yes, they have peddled things in the market, without a permit. They did pay the stall fees. Not much was sold but it went quickly.

“Their ship is built for high waves. It is worth as much as anything they carry. As to what they want; worm-farmers inland say their moths breed well this season. In a month, they may fancy cooler fabrics for wealthy backsides. I expect they have all the steel they want. Foods will spoil. Do you think they are interested in slave-women? They are in short supply, but this vessel cannot carry many and would entertain them going home.”

Rathbairn inwardly winced at the idea of Dúnedain females of any caste being shared among lesser men, but he appeared to consider it. There would be appropriate women along the southern coasts who would be all the same to lusty sea-dogs. That could wait. 

The lesser royal had things to mull. He told the merchant to ask among his associates, who all stood to benefit. Merchant Hu-Cirandal would also quietly inquire among other associates how such a ship could be taken intact after leaving with saleable cargo.


	8. Inland Paradise

**_Chapter 8_ **

**_Inland Paradise_ **

****

Tarquin took the ferry to the north bank and rode at a good speed, changing horses every ten miles at constantly maintained stables. On these flawless roads, he managed ten leagues a day and stayed at the royal stations where staff was always ready to serve. Even at this familiar pace, it was a five day ride through the bread-basket of his country to make the lake of his father, Ar-Gimilzôr.

The heir preferred the inland valley to the port. It was green and alive and full of things that ended when the sweet met the salt. He crossed good bridges made in the style of the men who ruled all of Middle-earth when it was worth ruling. They stood as proud reminders of what might yet be. To the north were the great forests of fine woods, both soft for building and hard for craft. In the foothills were bred horses like his fine Ignathe. Along the plain, all manner of grains and fruit and nuts grew, sometimes twice each cycle. On the southern banks were the worm bushes.

As was his custom, a girl was brought to him at the last royal station. It soothed him, readied him for the scrutiny of the palace. He asked for the same lass as last time. She reminded him of someone.

___________------___________

Bozisha-Kantû rested on the lip of the great inland lake forming the headwaters of the river. At only two-thirds the population of Dar, it called to him, made him feel someday he would return for good. The realm was defended by sand stretching leagues to the north, not walls or moats. Who could get here with men and arms? Skilled troops were prepared for short notice and the militias of the farmlands were trained. 

The guard at the palace gate opened before he arrived. His father tried to get Tarquin to come with bodyguards but riding home and back was the only time the Prince was ever really alone. After bathing and changing in his quarters, the heir went to Ar-Gimilzôr’s working office. 

Father and son gripped each others’ arms and smiled. They cherished each other. King and Prince were mortal men who might only live one hundred thirty years, both long enough and short enough for love. The original Ar-Gimilzôr lived over two hundred. The strain had weakened in the blending and kin-slayings of the withering march south to join their colony in the Havens of Umbar. The Faithful and then the Swertings forced them further.

They sat in familiar chairs, not the womanish pillows of the Haradrim. The King said, “Back in one piece. Tell me of your sister.”

“She is well, sir. But she is sad. As much as she claims succor by the sea, it is not her refined life.”

“Your grandmother was the same way. I have no idea how your mother was ever conceived. Now, you were not due back for a month. Are there tidings?”

“More in the manner of questions, father. A ship unlike any we have seen before berthed two weeks ago. It is from Gondor.”

The King leaned forward. Gondor was a famous and terrible place for the rulers of Miraz, rightly called ‘Thân zîrân’, Beloved Land, rather than its tribal Southron predecessor. Old names stick. He asked, “A warship?”

“It could certainly be used for that. This is a trader of things for housewives. No, father, it is the men who are of interest. They worship the Angmarach who is said to be gaining strength in Sauron’s lands. He seeks a foothold there again. I would have had them whipped for heresy but one of them, a thoughtless young man, has some sorcery claimed to direct Ar-Balkumagân’s attention. Evidently, the Witch-king seeks allies and the simple trader said he found something.”

The King stroked his full-beard, “This man, what do you make of him?”

“Not much. He is a haughty and handsome fellow who freely admits he has limited strength. But a stone said to be fashioned by the Angmarach’s minions was made to glow in his hand, before my eyes and Uncle Tourgsh. It was not a trick. We examined the device and could divine no power.”

“So, it is the trader?”

“Or both. I teased sister that the rakish foreigner was interested.”

His Lordship chuckled, “Only when we want him dead. You were right to return, my loyal son. What steps are taken while you are here?”

Lord Rathbairn speaks with local merchants for a successful but slow exchange of their wares. The sailors will grow tired of waiting in port.”

The hereditary ruler of Miraz said thoughtfully, “So the question is whether we can use this sorcery to further our aims?”

“It seems little threat. They had a noxious observance of their faith that we discouraged. I wonder if this merchant has tools to help our own true Lord. Does the Angmarach come in service to Mulkhêr or to himself? The man knows nothing of his own past.”

The King followed that thread, “It seems we would need both the man and the stone, you said stone?”

“A flat little rock with runes, eastern, I thought.”

“How do we know he does not use this power to frustrate the Door of Night? That is the last entrance known and we have but a glimpse. Were I this Witch-King, would I fight an age to kneel before one safely imprisoned? He was a fell King of Numenor, our own blood, before he was betrayed. Do we want him summoned to reclaim his old throne?”

Prince Tarquinbir answered softly, “Tsial-dra wondered the same. That is why I come, father. This is your decision.”

Ar-Gimilzôr said thoughtfully, “It seems we have time. Let us discuss this again in council. Will you visit your wife while you are here?”

“I think not, sir. One does not like being reminded of his mistakes.”

“A man is allowed a few.” 

___________------___________

The next morning, a shambling father and his young daughter walked along the docks asking crews of the ships if they would like to buy woven charms proven to bring luck, health and romance to men of the sea.

The child was about nine and not comely. Scars disfigured her face that even a scarf could not hide. At most ships, men simply waved them away. One threw a rotten peach at her. When they reached the Fûl, she was undaunted and told them of the great good that would come of the charms her mother wove to the benefit of sailors.

That should have been a difficult sale given her obvious misfortune, but one of the crewmen took pity and gave her a groat for her treasure. She ran gleefully to father with the precious copper. Men watching from other boats were either sorry she would have a difficult life or past caring.

That night, Seaman Sendarid had a loud run of luck playing dice amidships. He lost a few throws but in all, he must have squeezed his fellows for nearly a silver. Friends exclaimed that he had never been that lucky.

The next day, no one threw fruit at her but did not part with their coppers until she reached the strange foreign ship. Sendarid and another sailor stood ready for all the good luck they could buy. Again, she thrilled at her fortune, showing her crippled father two groats this time. Neither man won big that night, but they didn’t lose as badly as poor Bosun Ibernig. He bemoaned abandonment by gods large and small and the next day bought two charms, thinking to skew the odds.

Her name was Nieschdrul and she was obviously some sort of Southron, hardly worth the notice of anyone in Bozisha-Dar. Different sailors purchased according to the roll of the dice but on the days she came, she always sold one or two of the little reed charms to friendly foreigners who could not speak a word of her tongue. In today’s exchange she offered thanks by saying, “Eleven Du Canalth. Ten-bell.” Then she waved and offered to change the luck of sailors on other ships.

Nag Kath and Listracht slipped off after dark and split up to approach the address from different directions. The Elf climbed a handy wall to a rooftop to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t, supporting Listracht’s claim that the local guardi or Arbiters weren’t interested. They hadn’t spotted anyone watching them onboard either. The dice charades were to entertain lurkers. Games were played for real, but charm buyers would cry victory for a few rolls they didn't win. 

There were no bells here. You were supposed to know where you needed to be, and why would anyone make noise when decent people should be abed? After an hour, a Khandian owl hooted and the two sailors converged on a modest home along the fishing wharf further west. There was no secret knock. Listracht rapped his knuckles and Mr. Oram opened.

Inside were another man about forty and the first woman who had noticed the fell glyph identifying the foreign ship. They sat on pillows arranged in a circle in the single large room after Listracht peeked through the shutter. 

Oram said, “Thank you for coming. I have told my associates of your work.” No names; that was the arrangement. The woman sipped her tea. “Here is what we know; the heir rode east six days ago. It is earlier than usual so it may have to do with your arrival. Men are asking about your cargo to purchase in bulk. There really isn’t anything here you don’t have in your home except the fine fabric of moths in the lowlands to the east. It will not be ready for a month. If dyed, twice that.”

Nag Kath said, “That suits our schedule. We will need mooring away from the main docks. Sailors are not suited for long stays onboard in a port.”

Oram spoke to the man next to him about that and the fellow said a friend’s dock was available. It would be no cheaper but more private. Nag Kath translated that for Listracht. These were probably Righters. The Elf applauded their devotion but was mostly interested in the Witch-King. Hopefully women and wine might be available to the fallen.

Nag Kath held the floor, “Now, we come to search fell remainders of the Witch-King. He is dead but still holds power, like the One Ring of Sauron. Ghosts walk his graveyards. Howls and screams are heard near rivers. There are creatures that steal the souls of the living. Is there any of that here?”

The woman spoke for the first time. Both sailors wondered if she came from considerably higher station than her garb suggested. They might not even recognize her in better cloth. That was the point, they supposed. She said, “No, and we look. Though, it was not known that he was slain. Can you tell us of that?”

Between them, Nag Kath and Listracht gave the short version of the Pelennor, the Mordor campaign and Dwarf Ring, the Orlo symbols turned upside down and Orlo himself. In closing Nag Kath said, “The Witch-King is not quite dead. If there is no sign of him here, I need to know what the King is trying to do with Melkor. He was consigned to the void nearly seven thousand years ago. Of many possibilities, three stand out; one, the dark lord was not fully imprisoned. Two; this King thinks he can get him out and three, the King is making it all up and the threat alone keeps him in power.”

The woman said, “There have been … disturbances to the east where Ar-Gimilzôr holds court. I felt them.” That was news. She was not skinny enough to be a commercial healer. 

Listracht had been thinking of this for a week and asked Nag Kath to say, “Forgive my friend. He wants to know if a change of ruler is wanted. Both of our experience was that the world of Sauron was unimaginable terror and pain, a second Morgoth at his worst. Yet here, people are fair and not slaves and seem to enjoy their lives. Trying to make it purer invites disaster. Would you risk that?”

The younger man said, “If so, that is a great feat. Many have tried to take the throne here. A few succeeded, for a time, but they had men-at-arms and support in the counties. You have one ship two hundred miles from him.”

The Elf translated that for Listracht who spoke back to him in the tongue of the Balchoth. That went back and forth for a minute until the tall blonde man said, “If I gain the palace, I can slay him and his family without a sound.”

Somehow, they believed him.

Capt’n Penandoth would ask of the right-liver’s friend about mooring the Fûl. Nag Kath would inveigle an invitation or summons to the inland capital. Their communication process would remain the same. 

Listracht asked the Elf to say, “Sir, if you use a touch of vellet powder in your daughter’s scars, they will stick to her face better.” 

___________------___________

The Peristonig brothers knew about the worm fabric. It was impossibly expensive, tough as leather and yet allowed the slightest breeze through. It could only be made by certain worms on certain bushes and only masters could do any of the dozen steps needed to make it glorious. If they could lay in a stock of it, they would be rich beyond the dreams of Oakenshield. What could be had in Middle-earth came from the lands below Chey where Sauron never stopped the rain. It arrived in well-guarded caravans along the southern Duath and found grateful homes in Umbar before ever reaching the west – perhaps from here on an inland route. Nag Kath remembered the Khagan wearing something similar.

Ubier and Udan were promoted to worm-wool negotiators and would start asking. The right-living council, a Ghurate had they known, would also make inquiries. 

Well to the east in much more comfortable surroundings, the King’s council was called by a Herald. It included the Prince, Ministers of the Purse, Army and Security and the vice Minister of the Seas since his superior was stationed in the western capital. Then there was Heuldarn, a gentleman known by the unhelpful title of Elf-Friend. A scribe took notes. Prince Tarquin was asked to summarize his report to his father. 

Incomplete knowledge divided this tight group and a larger assembly into two camps. Each was given time to speak. The older, devout view was that the tiny window created by the first Black Numenoreans into the void should somehow be used to recall the dark lord known to be seething there. As his benefactors, they would reclaim the vast lands denied them by the Faithful and all the swarthy, lower-men defiling them now. It was their due. If this man-child merchant had skills to open the pin-hole wide enough, he should be brought into service.

The other camp was that of the Princess to let sleeping dogs lie. Miraz was a nice place and they were in charge. Who knew what a lord of unlimited power and wrath would do to them if he was loosed on the world? He might turn them to orcs or slaves and they would deserve every day of it. Now we find the north is stabilized enough to have commerce with better men than the ones in-between. 

The Prince was neutral on the matter. Fiercely loyal to his father, he would comply with any command. On the other hand, he would not mind being the eventual ruler of this benign slice of Middle-earth, removed from the strife and rage that had bled the rest white. After saying as much as he had to, Prince Tarquin listened. 

No conclusions were intended. The King simply said, “That is all for now. In two days, at the same hour, give me your advice. 

A subtle glance to Heuldarn had the man trail those leaving. He paused at the door and returned to stand by his King who said softly, “I would hear your thoughts sooner.”

“I think we need a look at this sailor. It might be no more than we feed and pleasure him. Then we send him back to port or he dies.”

“And these powers my son has seen?” Ar-Gimilzôr gestured for him to sit.

“May I speak my mind, Sire? The King nodded. “For four thousand years, the men of Numenor have been squeezed and chased to this place far beyond any reason for folk to bother. We control the food and timber which gives us mastery of the gulf. We could stay here, small and content, hiding from the northern oppressors, for that much longer. 

Heuldarn rose to the moment, “Then you would be the next of the Kings who thought to reclaim your heritage but did not. Events to the north seem to have fallen our way. Bring this peddler. See if he can shake the pillars of heaven and help return the lands we once ruled.” 

No matter how the council fell on the matter, Ar-Gimilzôr had already decided he would be the last king content with exile in this; the age of men.

Tarquin decided not to see his wife. Tanûerv was a vision as a child. She danced and sang and greeted folk of the forest in grace. He married her for love with his father’s blessing and she would become Queen of this fair land one day.

A year after the wedding, she fell into fog, a curse, the Seers said. Within a month, she seldom recognized her husband. The extraordinary physical comfort she could bestow was forgotten. They had no children. They had no life. For six years she had lived at a home above the lake with ladies who must bathe her and brush her hair and make her wear clean clothes. Sometimes they had to feed her by the bite like an infant. Poor Tanûerv flitted from room to room seeking those who were surely observing and telling others of her every thought. She begged her keepers to release her to the forest so she would be quit of demons with grace restored.

The King ordered the union dissolved five years ago. Tarquin had not remarried. Somehow he needed to endure the tragedy. Pressure was mounting to produce heirs of his own. At some point, another marriage would join him with a broodmare of the nation’s continuance. All hope of fair Tanûerv would be lost.

___________------___________

The meeting in two day’s time went as planned. The house divided about in the middle with the Prince taking no position. The King decided that the sailors would be brought here for further assessment. As soon as the daily messenger reached the port, the ship would be watched and not allowed to leave.

By the time the man got there, the ship had already been moved to a new berth a half mile from the city wharf. The dock would not have been large enough for a Captain who insisted on orderly loading of cargo but it had other advantages. Against all known right-living tenets, two young women found their way to the apartment building just off the main road along the quay. Men on leave might visit them from time to time, even the married ones. One of their wine barrels mysteriously found its way to the same building which was rented with the dock. Nag Kath would square that with Orlo when next they met.

The merchant’s haughty heir took an apartment in the heart of the city with his long-suffering servant. If the lower-orders needed to amuse themselves while they completed their business, who was Mr. Solvanth to interfere? Women in the same trade as those near the ship made him offers he could refuse. The servant discreetly lost his Guardi tail for such a trip but generally let them follow where he wanted to be seen. Nag Kath bought some of the worm-cloth garments. They were very comfortable. Yes, with enough of this, Penandoth could turn a profit. The swords might have to be dumped in darkness before they unloaded the trade goods. 

The messenger from the palace requested the merchant’s presence the following morning. This time he and his retainer met in a reception room, the one with the portraits. While they waited for whoever summoned them, both men took a quick look at the subjects. They could have been painted last week or five thousand years ago, no different than the Kings holding-up the arch in Dunland. 

Both false-Visitors turned when the Uncle came in with a pair of guards who positioned themselves by the door. Betraying no opinion of his orders, Uncle said that the King would welcome his fellow believer in the old ways and invited Mr. Solvanth and such staff as were needed to the eastern Capital with dispatch. So, this had reached the point where the old boy needn’t pretend he was in charge. The right-livers had already explained it was a comfortable week's ride, three weeks there and back if things went well. One of the soldiers said horses would be ready for them after breakfast at the palace gate. There wasn’t much to discuss. Nag Kath and Listracht had no choice and the Uncle didn’t know they actually wanted to go. Their personal possessions were already in the apartment. Listracht went back to the ship for a few things and a word with Penandoth. 

Theirs were a couple of fair horses. Other than swayback donkeys in the market, not even soldiers rode in Bozisha-Dar. Nag Kath got a gelding which was a good fit after needing help adjusting the Numenorean stirrup buckles. Listracht got a mare. He had not ridden much. A troop of six outriders went with them. They wore no plate armor and only thin-mail about the torso and sleeves, lined with the worm-wool. Helmets were a bit like Gondor’s with eagle wings above the nose-guards.

With no more than the Sarn't saying, “chik, chik” they were off at a canter. After two hours, Nag Kath knew Listracht would need some embarrassing sores tended. That is a difficult gait for an inexperienced rider to time correctly. The Righter would be bowlegged tomorrow.

The road was better than any but the ceremonial paths in national capitals. Merchants got out of their way. Accommodations were nice too, but it was clear these facilities were not for everyday travelers. They had their own guards while the troopers slept in nearby barracks. As servant, Listracht had a cot in the master’s room. The man took his healing with grudging grace and Nag Kath let him have the bed.


	9. Thân zîrân

**_Chapter 9_ **

**_Thân zîrân_ **

The maps Far Harad and Coastal Haradwaith are helpful here. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

Each day, the land grew greener with fields and pastures on both sides of the river. There were more horse farms. The country was at least as large as Rohan with some fair-sized towns and even cities along the road at bridged tributaries. In addition to heavy merchant traffic, a messenger in government livery rode past them daily at a good clip unless hailed by the Prince’s Lieutenant for tidings. It looked more like Ithilien by the step. The port was the westernmost regional seat of the realm but they controlled about a fifty leagues further into the bay on both sides of the flow. Ferries and barges crossed the river frequently. On the seventh afternoon they turned a hilly corner to look on the actual capital of the nation. 

The city wrapped around a jewel of a deep-blue lake starting the Bozisha River making for the port. The escort never slowed and wound up a path to what could only be the palace. At a side-gate they were met by men in palace soldier’s livery and told to follow on foot. 

The interior looked nothing like the coastal buildings. Folk fancied themselves Numenorean. These were like renderings of Aragorn’s summer capital with precisely cut blocks and angles. The only difference was that the local stone was more tan than charcoal. The guards said no more than the troopers except not to leave a comfortable room with east-facing windows. It was early afternoon. Nag Kath sat by one of the windows and sketched the view over the lake. Yet again; another nice place. 

Were they trying to make it Orthanc? Four thousand years is long enough to forget what it is to feed children to orcs. These people had carved-out a lovely oasis surrounded by desert. The former Uruk could make a good case they didn’t want any like him. Dark Lords need a lot of expendable soldiers too. Who of the farmers they saw would volunteer?

Food was brought, this time with wine. It was mostly meat so Nag Kath nibbled on Lembas and let the always starving Listracht eat both portions. After dinner, what they took to be a senior attendant came to their quarters and opened the door without knocking. The man said they would be brought to the council room after breakfast and should prepare.

Preparing was no more than getting dressed so Listracht tried to sleep and Nag Kath sat by the window watching bats. Breakfast was early and featured the same porridge served the world around. There was meat, fruit and a green that had been boiled. A new attendant entered and led them to the council.

For most men, meeting the lords of a land one intended to confound freezes the blood. Nag Kath wasn’t bothered at all and the hardened Righter was ready for the task. They were tougher customers than these Black Numenoreans had been led to believe. It was understood that Nag Kath would improvise and Listracht would nod and bow. The Prince was already in the room beside four men in somber dress with a woman wearing the fabled worm-cloth in matching colors. Did she have power? The visitors bowed to the assembly and remained standing until King Ar-Gimilzôr arrived for another bow and took his place at the head of a horseshoe table on a dais. The Visitors were seated at a lower table facing the questioners.

The sailors’ objective was simple. They needed a look at whatever these people thought could place them in touch with the exiled Ainu Melkor. Neither was particularly concerned about the governance of Miraz. It did not seem a black state nor had they contributed anything in the war. 

The King looked sixty by western measure. The Righters gathered from those in port that men of this bloodline often lived to be in their early hundreds. Nag Kath noticed a slight shake in his left hand but the man’s voice was clear and strong when he said, “Sirs, ma’am, we are gathered here because a servant of Melkor has grown in strength. These northern men are said to access it. They are here to explain this to us.”

Nag Kath translated that for Listracht. That wasn’t necessary since what the lords said had almost nothing to do with their purpose. Translations were strategy and sometimes they needed a pause to consider answers. None of the council seemed annoyed.

Nag Kath said out of turn, “Sirs, ma’am, I brought a gift for His Highness, much like the one I gave your esteemed representative in Bozisha-Dar.”

With that the door-guard produced another ornate box. The King nodded to his personal attendant who took it to his Lord. This dagger was less Dwarvish and more in the old Numenorean style. With time to prepare, they thought these gifts would be most appreciated by those long and far from their imagining. The King unsheathed it and slowly followed the lines from butt to tip. Gently sliding it in the scabbard he said, “Please thank your Lord for this thoughtful gesture.”

The Prince still had the stone and would ask the questions, “Mr. Solvanth, you said before that this is a device of the Angmarach used to seek kindred spirits, yes?”

Nag Kath corrected him slightly, “These are made by his adherents in Mordor, though, I know not how or if they are imbued with sorcery. Perhaps one in a thousand mortals in the west can further his search.” Recalling Legolas' contention he added, “It is said there is a master talisman still undiscovered that retains his spirit, even though he is now long dead.”

Tarquin held the stone now and wondered, “And when you used this in my presence, you said it drained you, that this had been stronger?”

“Yes, yes sir. I am not one of the adepts. Most of the time, I feel only the empty search. This time was different, possibly it found something. In keeping with Yvsuldor guidance, we of the world are not Arbiters of the results.” Nag Kath explained that to Listracht who was doing his best faithful servant impression. This was the Elf’s quest but the man was a senior right-living fighter and would see this through to his last drop of blood. 

“The woman spoke, “And your reason for coming was to bring your Lord’s quest to our shores?”

“No ma’am. The service of Yvsuldor is not lucrative. My father sent me here to trade goods. That I am of the quiet-ones helped find backers for the journey, but we knew nothing of your society other than that you come from the most lordly of fathers and might speak the old language. The man beside me is of the Yvsuldor in the eastern realms.”

Heuldarn, Elf-Friend, was concerned with here and now, “Are you prepared to demonstrate this … illusion to the council?”

“I am, sir, though the last time it took all my strength. I could not do that again and repeat it more than every other day.” It was time for another probe. He spoke briefly with his servant and continued, “I had not felt that before. It may have to do with how close I am to the being or talisman My Lord seeks.” Neither righter had any notion if there was a talisman here, or anywhere else. It was simply a dodge that could not be verified by opponents.

The Prince was hoping the charlatan would be dismissed out-of-hand but his father decreed, “We would see this claim, then decide if it should be pursued.”

Nag Kath studied their eyes until the Prince told him, “Mr. Solvanth, please demonstrate as you did for me.”

The trader’s son and his man spoke briefly back and forth, with some emotion on both parts. Then the tall blonde put his hand on his servant’s shoulder and nodded that this must be done. He walked to the dais and collected the stone from Tarquin in his right hand. First he handed it to Listract who muttered a Rhûnic insult meant to resemble prayer. Returning to his table, Nag Kath held the object in front of him. It began to glow faintly silver and slowly built to considerably less than the Prince had seen until it flashed much brighter for a moment and faded. Nag Kath made sure they all felt a surge of energy. The council watched the trader’s son stagger slightly and hand the rock to his servant before holding the table’s edge with both hands. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes. Finally, he rose to his full height looking somewhat groggy.

Listracht was the picture of concern, hoping the Elf would not crack into his famous grin and give the game away. He was not a good Dukks player! The woman asked, “What manner of power came to you?”

“As … as before … muh … muh … mam ... perhaps closer yet.”

She continued, “And the surge?”

The stunned trader looked at his aide and translated the question. After a long response, he turned to her and said, “I am sorry, My Lady. I see only the color.” A dribble of spit was wiped with a sleeve.

Heuldarn, Elf-Friend, demanded, “We should go now to a place where this might be effective! The Dark Lord’s star is nearly highest on the horizon!”

Nag Kath was tempted to plead exhaustion but knew cooler heads would prevail. One of the Lords to the King’s left said, “Sir, the man said he needed a short time to replenish himself. Perhaps we should grant him such grace.”

The woman agreed, “Yes Minister, we have been patient. With his Lordship’s leave we shall remain so.”

Nag Kath started talking with Listracht, this time in earnest, “The thin one just showed his cards, said I should be taken somewhere special. Let us look at this mystery place so I can prepare my next summoning.” Again, the grin was only just behind his grave face. An instant before they were reminded they were in the presence of a King, the Elf offered, “Sirs, ma’am, it would help me to visit the place you have in mind before the summoning. I could do that tomorrow, providing it is not far away.”

In Dukks, he had placed a challenge wager. Thus far, Nag Kath had followed the flow all the way from Dol Amroth. If this Kingly lot wanted more from him, they could show good faith. They seemed to know that. The King nodded to Heuldarn who said, “That is wise. Tomorrow at this time you will be taken there.”

Then the King nodded to his son that the foreigners could be escorted back to their room and one of the door guards was told to do so. An attendant was instructed by the Prince and joined the unsteady visitor in the hall. Walking towards their room the soldier said, “You must remain in your room again. Food will be brought to you.”

The blonde gentleman translated that for his servant and, as rehearsed, the servant asked the attendant in Khandian, “My master would be better served outside in fresh air. Is that permitted?”

The man drew a blank. So they didn’t speak Variag here. Good. Servant Listracht had his master say in Sindarin, “He asked if I could be outside some of the day to replenish in fresh air.”

The fellow was not in a position to countermand his instructions but said he would inquire. Nag Kath continued to drag around their room in case there were peepholes, drinking tea, using the chamber-pot and generally looking meek. Within half a bell, the attendant was back saying he would take them to a garden. Two guards were with him to make sure they stayed there until returning directly back here. Listracht grabbed the satchel as Nag Kath shuffled down a floor and out open doors to a pleasant garden of flowers and herbs. The guards stayed by the doors and the two foreigners went to the stone rail that dropped off fifty feet to tended walks. 

They sat in two chairs and looked over the lake. A servant poured cool tea, bowed and left. Listracht took a sip, holding his little finger out, “These local dark lords know how to live! Florins to groats this lot has never seen bubbling mud at Orodruin.”

The feeble Yvsuldor had sip of his own tea and said, “You do not know what you have until it is gone?”

The Righter asked, “Umhumm. What do you make of the council?”

“These are the lads who want to turn a long-held card over, particularly the one to our left. They think they have some tool but know not how to employ it. My plan is no different. I am not expected to make anything of it tomorrow but I should feel something if it is there, and I got no sense that any of them had power. The right-living woman in port probably did.”

“From the same school of charm as this one.”

Nag Kath sighed in his observed distress, “The King kept his cards close. I think he wants to tickle the fates. What do you make of the Prince?”

“It would help if I could understand them, but I don’t think he has a rat in the fight. If he rode all the way here to tell da, he isn’t staking claims for himself downriver.”

The Elf said softly, “There is a sadness there, not anger but loss. That is not what dark lords look for in their servants. We stay close to him.”

Listracht muttered, “Aye; if only because he probably commands those pig-boats on the island. I am no naval fighter but we will want them waving goodbye. How much more power do you have compared to that little flame exhibition with the galley?”

Nag Kath considered, “Some, and we have those Syndolan rockets too.”

Listracht grumbled, “That is not a holiday in my lands.”

“It is a fire I do not have to cast if I don't leave this place. Any man can light a match and send it far. I haven't once hit what I aimed at, but it can cause terror and confusion.”

Listracht added thoughtfully, “We can just bribe them too. The Righters can help. They have gotten soft with no pursuit but they seem dedicated.”

“The little girl is the best among them.”

They sat in the sun until it began to fade behind the palace and walked to the door. A fresh set of guards fell in and took them to their room. Listracht slept, Nag Kath took his rest and watched the moon with his thoughts.

________________-------_______________

Well after breakfast, Heuldarn the Elf-Friend came with four guards. Not a word was exchanged until the company left the palace and continued north past the palace. It was a forest of small waterfalls noisily making their way to the lake. The third stream was protected by a very old, very stout gate. Admitted, they arrived near a larger waterfall to find the woman of the council and one of the three other Ministers already there. None of them nodded or smiled.

Heuldarn said in a commanding tone, “You are here at the sufferance of Ar-Gimilzôr the Great. You will see what you had best not remember. Am I clear?”

Nag Kath nodded and then looked puzzled. "Your pardon sir. Your title is unknown to us. You are a friend to the Elves?"

"My position is; Friend Who is an Elf." 

The changeling tried to look confused but this was made much clearer. That was Annatar's role, Sauron in disguise, leading the Numenoreans to their doom. He blandly spoke to his retainer, “I think this is our Uvuo.” It was Listracht’s mentor Shelturn who slipped a blade into the High Visitor’s heart in Mordor. It also meant what they remembered would not matter if they were destined for the same fate. Listracht knew the Elf could cut every throat with the men’s own knives but that was the escape plan, not the objective.

The woman asked as she would of a groom about a pack horse, “Are you sufficiently recovered, Mr. Solvanth?”

He smiled anyway, “I am stronger, ma’am, but still feeble to the great lord’s purpose.”

Heuldarn asked, “Do you see the frame against that cliff-ledge?” He pointed to two stout stone columns holding a steel oval measuring perhaps two feet on the long dimension. He put it about ninety feet away on the other side of a chasm reached by a crafted stone bridge. There were no rails or curbs, but the span was still much roomier than the walks in Rivendell.

Nag Kath made a show of shielding his eyes from the sun and told Listracht where he was looking. 

The woman, who must be of the bring-Melkor-back contingent, ordered, “That is the portal. Go there and make what you can of it." 

The two men walked over the bridge to the frame followed by one of the guards. It was damp with the mist of a pleasant waterfall in the prevailing breeze. What he first took to be steel had the same gloss as his pocket-knife. This was mithril, about two inches thick, solid or plated he could not say. Rapping it with his knuckles gave no hint but it made the band vibrate like a fork smacked against the table.

There was power here, terrible power. Radagast said Morgoth was consigned to vastness but not where it was. The Elf’s first impression was that it was deep in the heavens over the Undying Lands. She called it a portal, port-hole? … as in a side-hatch? He held his hand in front of the opening and the power increased. He walked around the back. It was just air but strangely, he did not feel the energy on this side. Nag Kath thought better of putting his arm through. He did open his quill-knife. It did not change color but it seemed to sense the malice. 

Knowing more than appeared was one of Nag Kath’s abiding talents. Inspecting the frame as if buying a used man-cart, he said conversationally to Listracht in Khandian, “It resonates, as if tuned like the big harps in Belfalas. The scratches were filed one at a time to create the right note, for summoning perhaps.

“They think Morgoth is waiting past this window into the great emptiness. I feel power here, weak, but unlike any in my experience. This must be destroyed.”

Listracht held his chin and observed, “Stout rocks, Nag, steel too.”

“That’s mithril, maybe for power, maybe to keep it from rusting. Either way, I’d wager a night with one of your Khandian beauties that they can’t make these anymore.”

“That is no fair, master.”

“My favorite way to play. Your addled charge found nothing untoward. We make back to the palace for a boring evening and plan a little Catanard for tomorrow. One thing for sure, this Elf-Friend dies, probably his King too. Keep an eye on the nearest sword.”

“I always do.”

Nag Kath gazed at the cliffs above them for a moment and nodded to the soldier who had stood right by them before returning across the bridge to the waiting Ministers. He took a long look over the cliff ledge before saying to the Elf-Friend, “A curious monument. It did not speak to me.” Yawning, the indolent trader added, “Perhaps we shall see what the Angmarach instructs.”

They walked back to the palace sure the Elf-friend would push them down the cliff as soon as their usefulness was over.

________________-------_______________

The evening wasn’t as tedious as feared. The King had an entertainment scheduled with dancers, singers and musicians. An attendant told them they were invited and took them there without a guard.

After the opening, the musicians began a courtly tune. Singers came in with an epic poem in Adûnaic. It was long. Nag Kath thought it was of their travels to this idyll away from care. Some older members of the audience mouthed the words. Even here there seemed to be a schism between the Adûnaic and Sindarin types. If he got the chance, he would throw a little Quenya in the ring and see who picked it up.

The closing piece brought dancers in gentle motion. They had Listracht’s attention, and no error. When the piece was over Listracht asked, “What did you make of that?”

“They remind themselves of past glory. The musicians had to talk among themselves before the Saying Poem so that wasn’t one they play every time. Someone slipped that in for the patriots.”

List asked the air, “I wonder what the girl in green is doing after the show?”

Quite early the Righters were escorted to the site, only this time the King and Prince were there with five Ministers, several nobles and half a company of pike-men. Heuldarn handed Nag Kath the bilge-stone.

The merchant asked, “How may I serve?”

“Take it over there and see what occurs.”

The Elf told Listracht to remain and crossed the bridge. Standing near the frame he pulled the slightest color test that could be seen among the viewers. The frame responded subtly. This was more the making of energy than the drawing of it, like the Drúedain. He could fool these people all day long but whoever built this knew their craft. It was waiting. Wandering back over the bridge as if he had done no more than check baking loaves, Nag Kath came as close as he dared to the King and bowed, “I felt something near. May I ask what My Lord hopes to achieve?”

Heuldarn snapped, “You may not.”

“Very well. What are your instructions?”

Why did this insouciant brat have to pose such impossible questions? How would they know what he was supposed to do?! Every King since they claimed this forsaken gulf had pondered the omens, asking the same thing! With no born sorcerers of their own, this was as close as they had gotten to waking the device, except for the malicious shocks trespassers received by straying too close. 

Heuldarn looked at his liege and stared at Solvanth, “Go back and try again.”

The Elf thought; fair enough, but let us put your skinny backside on the drawing line as well. Nonchalantly, Solvanth asked, “I could, but what if I am not the vessel? Are you sure you want me as your new Lord King?”

Lord Elf-Friend was about to disdain another impossible question. How could someone so stupid create such befuddlement?! They had dragged the hoop through battle, pain and frustration for thousands of years. Not even Sauron could summon Melkor. But they kept it, waiting, hoping. 

Ar-Gimilzôr knew it was time. He was not dispensing justice to cheating merchants. This was the hour of Lordship after a lifetime of preparation. He pronounced as ruler of the land, “We will go there now and see what our ancestors decreed!” 

The King boldly strode across the bridge with Heuldarn in tow. Nag Kath followed but gave Listracht the slightest glance to stay. The waterfall seemed louder with the blood pounding in his ears. As the men arrayed themselves around the portal, The Elf lit the stone brightly with a prepared confusion spell rather than the color-test. It flashed in the King’s face through the mithril hoop. Everyone saw it and wondered if the stone had truly found its master. Ar-Gimilzôr seemed stunned for a moment and then turned and started walking back to his waiting courtiers across the bridge. Heuldarn followed him to see the trouble, leaving Nag Kath standing by the device. 

The Elf switched from confusion to a bringing spell and drove the Elf-Friend into the back of his King. Not knowing what to make of the surge, Heuldarn raised his hands to hold and steady Ar-Gimilzôr. From the gathering it looked like he grabbed the man. The pair shuffled a few steps before Nag Kath pushed them both over the ledge into the chasm. 

The next bit was untried. Though he did not learn the spell from Gandalf, Bilbo wrote all those long years ago that the wizard split a boulder to let the rising sun shine on the three trolls now frozen in stone on the East/West Road. As if raising his arm in anguish, he tried to loosen the most precarious rock above him. It didn’t budge. It took a second theatrical bringing spell with both hands as if protecting himself from a landslide to topple the boulder. He was scurrying over the bridge as it smashed the portal. 

When rock collided with metal, a blast of energy fired in the direction of the assembly. They felt something but were otherwise unaffected. Nag Kath was thrown about twenty feet and skidded to a stop in the gravel. No one noticed. They were staring at the broken body of Ar-Gimilzôr fifty feet below. The King of Miraz, properly named Thân zîrân, was lying face-up with his neck at an unnatural angle. The Elf-Friend landed much further down. 

The Prince was King. A lot of kings would have the incompetent sorcerer and his servant tossed down too but no one seemed to blame them for what was obviously the late King’s decision to abandon this sorcery, followed by the Elf-friend’s enraged treachery. Tarquin looked at his father, gave the broken portal a vicious stare and turned back to his da before ordering, “Have father brought up for proper mourning and burial. Leave the other.”

The King stalked towards the Palace followed by everyone but the gasping trader and his retainer. After the retinue rounded the gate-post, Nag Kath scrambled back across the bridge. The rock had dented the oval slightly. The sense of malice was gone. He was still stunned from being tossed like a ragdoll by the force but no one else seemed affected. Perhaps it was only for those few such as he. That oval had intensified and focused the force summoned from a fell dimension unseen in the world of men – a scream of rage at having been teased and denied.

When the Elf sauntered back over the bridge, Listracht roughly dusted his employer and smiled, “It has been a pleasure to work with you Nag Kath. Shelturn said you pulled the same strings in Mordor. Why didn’t you heave the lad over too?”

“He stays. I suspect he will be a good ruler, and most likely to give us horses when his da is under the bier.”

“Hmmm, I hope so. What is next?”

Nag Kath shook his head to clear the cobwebs and replied, “Let’s get breakfast.”

“Spoken like a true leader.” 

________________-------_______________

Ten minutes behind the news sweeping the city, guards let them pass without question. Men saw the two walk up. Now they were back. Being infidel foreigners, they wandered aimlessly about the disordered palace making note of who stayed where. Finally, a captain of guards told them to repair to their quarters.

Late in the evening, Nag Kath stole out on the ledge and crept into an open window next door. From there he found Tarquin’s suite. The new King had not yet assumed his father’s rooms. The man woke an hour before dawn. From a chair on the far side of the chamber he heard the Elf-Lord voice, imbued with power, “Sorry about your da.”

“Solvanth?”

“Among other names. That was a door he was not to open.”

The man sat up in his bed and lit a candle with one of the fire-sticks that were all the rage in port. “You planned this all along.”

From the darkness, “No, I followed the stream. There was power there, terrible power. Your people have forgotten how terrible. I have not.”

Tarquin asked without fear, “Are you here to finish this job?”

“Aye, but not how you think. I believe you would be a fair king of a fair land. Everything I claimed is exactly false. Western countries after the war are much like yours. You should speak to them, trade with them, find good people scraped-off along the way here. I will help you do that, if you can trust me just a little.”

Tarquin asked “What are you?”

“I am the last of my kind. Not a very capable merchant, I will grant you, but an honest servant of honest lords. I will return to my room before the light. Settle your father with honor and send for me. We have much to discuss, King Tarquin.”

“And then what?”

He was gone.

________________-------_______________

Numenoreans give their rulers a grand farewell. It used to be more like two hundred years between them but now merely seventy. King Tarquin made it clear that the two guests had access to anywhere they wanted and both attended Ar-Gimilzôr’s rites, half in Adûnaic, half Sindarin. He was interred in a cemetery outside the city with twenty one former kings. His bier had already been carved and stored. Priests droned incantations of their confused understandings. Tarquin was crowned the next day.

It was nearly a week before a senior attendant came to collect the visiting merchants. Like Aragorn, the new King preferred a private office for business when he did not have to publicly judge from on high. Nag Kath and Listracht bowed deeply and were shown to seats. Tea was brought. Tarquin looked at his reflection in the mug for a moment and said, “It is done. I cannot say I wanted this. My father was dear to me. But I would have you know the council was divided on whether to pursue the reckoning or leave things as they are. You have decided that for us, wisely, I think.”

The Elf translated that for Listracht. The Khandian asked Nag Kath to say something to the new King which came out as; “Sir, we did not come looking for Melkor. Fell and powerful as he was, we really did seek remnants of Sauron’s darkest servant. The things we claimed to embrace we seek to destroy. My friend Listracht has been a soldier against such evil in a line that goes back nearly two thousand years, quietly keeping the dark ones from unleashing unspeakable torment on people who deserve better.”

Nag Kath nodded to the Righter that it was said. Recalling the Dwarf Ring he added, “Now, that portal is a nasty piece of work. I have experience with such sorcery. It could easily poison mortals who came too close. Listracht and I will help them know solace.”

The King leaned back in his tall chair, face frozen in anguish. Yes, he had taken her to the most sacred of his father’s places, guards knowing not to interfere with the heir’s amusement. After their passion, the fair lass put her hand through the frame and took it out giggling, her forest spirit pure and immune to the wrath of men.

Now she crept through her prison stalking those who stole her every thought.

A tear was denied. The King of Thân zîrân stood and said, “Sirs, I have one more errand for you in your search for peace. Please come with me.”

They trooped out the door. A chamberlain was standing with the next appointment but a quick shake of the head told the man it had to wait. Guards fell in as they made their way to the northern palace gate and walked fully a mile around the breathtaking blue jewel.

They were admitted immediately as a stout, middle-aged woman presented herself with a bow. Tarquin said gently, “These gentlemen are here to attend her Highness. Where is she?”

“In the summer-room Your Highness. I will take you. The home was several levels sculpted into the hillside, separated by half staircases. Doors to all but a few rooms and pantries were removed. What should have been a lovely garden was barred all around and across the top. 

The matron brought them to a pleasant lounge where a fair woman in her twenties sat in a large rocking chair with her feet beneath her. She looked over her shoulder in neither fear nor curiosity. Then she resumed staring out the grated window.

Nag Kath seemed to glow as he walked towards her. He did not frighten her the way all the physicians and healers had before. The Elf took her hand and she did not resist. At other times she could be animated and restless. All will was broken. 

Without need of the ‘fast’, he gently put his right hand against the side of her face and his slid his left up to her wrist. Then he jerked them sharply and backed away several feet. Silver light hit her in the chest as she looked up at him before screaming in excruciating pain. A fine mist of pure black swirled around her for a moment and vanished. He caught her before she crumpled on the floor.

Princess in his arms, he asked the matron, “Where is My Lady’s chamber.” They were all led there. Placing her on the bed he rose and said, “I have only done that once before. It may be days before we see the result. With your permission, sir, I will stay here until she wakes.”

Tarquin nodded to the matron and put his hand on the Elf’s shoulder before leaving with his men for pressing duties below. Nag Kath was sitting on the side of the bed holding the woman’s pale wrist. He was tired. He incorrectly assumed this was like the Lostorin poisonings. Slapped away as if a fly, his second effort was the spell Gandalf used on him and he used on the orc to drive darkness from flesh. 

This was a pure black aura, no green for lesser demons. So that was the color of Morgoth! Was one of his vile weapons driving people mad?! Was simply killing them not enough? More likely she was too insignificant to notice.

The Elf stood and said in Sindarin to the waiting matron, “She will sleep for some time. If and when she rises, she will be hungry and confused. I am Nag Kath and this is Listracht. While we sit vigil, can you attend food and beds? We will need someone fleet of foot to tell the King if she stirs.”

The woman said, “We were about to have lunch in the next room. I hope that will serve.”

That would serve Listracht fine. They followed the woman into the small dining area. The Rhûn ate. Nag Kath slept in a chair. It was dark when he woke. Listracht was sleeping next to him and one of the chambermaids was on a stool by the Princess. The Elf stretched and sauntered over to feel Tanûerv's pulse. She would not take as long as the orc. Sure the chambermaid would stay until ordered; he sat across the room and watched as well.

After breakfast, Listracht was padding around the mansion in his stocking feet. The matron found him new socks and, hopefully, burned his. Nag Kath pulled from his rest and felt the blood in the young woman’s neck. She turned away and made a small moan. He asked for the matron who appeared within the minute, “Ma’am, I think the Princess is waking. If the P … King’s love sustained her before her madness, it would be best if he was here to welcome her.”

One of the guards was dispatched at a dead run. It was still an hour before Tarquin arrived with a mounted half-troop. Without ceremony, he approached the bed where Nag Kath was sitting with the matron and chambermaid. The Elf looked up and said, “Sir, I think you should be where I am” and relinquished his seat.

The King took her hand and waited patiently. A quarter-bell later, she blinked and turned to him saying in a panic, “Dearest, where did you go?! I have been looking so long!”

“I am here now, Tanûerv. You have found me.”

That was a bit too sentimental for the Righter so he and the physician eased back to the dining area and left the lovebirds to mutter soft words while the cook produced an array of cold meats, cheese, and fruit for the ever-famished soldier. Nag Kath ate delicately. The spell was much easier than the first of its kind but still pulled from deep reserves. 

The King finally convinced his bride that she was well and introduced Dr. Solvanth who had restored her after her illness. She hardly saw him. Taneûrv would stay a while longer. Listracht trooped back to the palace with the King while the good doctor took another nap in the chair.

________________-------_______________

It was a few days before the travelers were called to the King’s office. The man showed the strain. It might not be long before other white hairs joined the shock at his widow’s peak. He managed a smile and said, “I thank you for your touch, sirs, and apologize for my inattention. Tell me, what happens now?”

The Elf answered, “I think, sir, that I should stay to explain the larger world awaiting you while Mr. Listracht returns to the port so our crew does not fret needlessly. They are honest sailors and not involved in this intrigue.”

King Tarquin agreed, “Granted. I will assign riders with the daily messenger. They leave at dawn, Mr. Listracht. I cannot thank you enough. Mr. Solvanth, I look forward to our conversations. Please attend me on the morrow after your fellow is safely away.”

They spoke two or three hours almost every day for two months. Early on, Nag Kath did most of the talking because he had been almost everywhere and virtually no news seeped into the gulf. The Elf explained what Miraz had barely missed and the horrors of Mordor, hoping there were no more portals built along the King’s-men’s route. He did say he must take the metal frame with him. Maybe Golord could melt it into something pretty. Mithril is tough but the falling rock dented it out of shape. Hopefully that upset the resonance.

King Tarquin was most amazed by what the west had become – quite different from the horrors recorded by their forebearers. Despite the centuries of isolation, the countries were quite similar. Being the world’s foremost amateur diplomat, Nag Kath suggested the King send an embassy to northern lands fairly representing their realm. At least one whole session was spent on who else lived inside the gulf. There were Haradrim along the northern shore. Nag Kath had met some of them. A different sort of Southron, the Harad-khir lived along the south. They were the slightly orc-faced men who believed in only a single Vala piloting the sun, stars and moon. Absurd on the face of it, but they kept to themselves. The Elf spent a little time on the west's version of the Valar. He was admittedly a poor student of those beings so he kept topics general. At other times the Elf spoke with staff, experts, artists and an array of truly interesting Numenoreans.

A fascinating conversation with one of the King’s counselors was that the lands due east had their own huge gulf or sea. There was some trade since the fertile part of Miraz extended another hundred leagues in that direction and so did the growing fields of those people towards them. Churgash, they called themselves. Chey, perhaps? Nag Kath collected a variety of their portable goods and spoke to traders who plied the dense forests of that land where were found huge, dangerous house-cats the size of warags, sporting an assortment of spots and stripes. Some of those and many other animals were kept here in a sanctuary for the public to see, including clever, hairy little creatures who swung by their tails in the trees looking down cautiously on viewers. 

The Princess was physically recovered but only made halting progress towards remembering. Clarity spells seemed to help as she allowed him to touch her. She was a sweet, fair thing who had not aged much in her possession. He saw her every other day at her home. The King visited often as well. One morning she seemed particularly pleased. Good! This place needed heirs!

The Elf would have been glad to spend years here but stayed only long enough for the worm-wool season. He took long rides into the countryside sketching the hills and buildings. Further inland Nag Kath got a bag of Coloma fruit. They were orange in color with a tough hide. Inside; the fruit divided into smile-shaped pieces that were both sweet and sour. They would not keep, but he saved a handful of the seeds. 

Not quite three months after leaving the port for the capital, Nag Kath rode with Ambassador Taj-Velindir, who seemed thirty-something, his man and half a dozen troopers along the same stations back to the ship. The diplomats spoke quite a bit, especially about the sea and the Swan Breeze. With only one Ambassador and an assistant, capitals of the west would have to share them. A fully-laden pack horse carried nick-knacks from the capital and the curious eastern realm. 

Taj-Velindir stayed at the palace while Nag Kath made sense of the jumble his sailors created in their port of exile. Penandoth was still strict but that would only go so far. The first order of business was Kath baths and showing their females the door. To the outrage of local merchants, the King ordered a large supply of the worm-wool prepared especially for them in exchange for most of what they had on board, including the swords. Nag Kath picked out some nice pieces of jewelry for Tanûerv and sent earrings to the Ice Princess in the local mansion. There was no reason to go up there again except to collect Taj-Velindir so the ship was made ready as soon as the fabric was loaded along with raiding the markets of things the crew thought they could sell at a profit. Since the cargo was light and small, Crewman Soldient made a third private cabin for the Ambassador. Other than small boats around the capital lake, neither of them had ever sailed before. Second mate rolled his eyes. The prisoner Voulshuh decided he liked it here just fine and would live with one of the entertainment women. 

Listracht now had enough of the local speech to stay in quiet contact with the right-livers about the changing of the guard. They must still be vigilant. Nothing had been accomplished with the Witch-King except learning his name. It was good to foil the bigger fish, who may not have known any of this in his desolation, making Nag Kath all the gladder he hadn't reached through the portal when it was intact.

Without her scars, the little girl was quite pretty in addition to the luck she brought. 


	10. Against the Wind

**_Chapter 10_ **

**_Against the Wind_ **

They pushed off the dock in late January. The days had kept getting longer and warmer their whole stay until the last month. 

The King instructed his navy to accompany the foreigners out of the harbor but no one mentioned that to the merchant Hu-Cirandal. He had plans for the impressive cargo and the ship itself. Neither of them would be saleable in these waters but friends of friends along the northern coasts had friends of their own. When he learned that these men were under Ar-Tarquin’s protection, it was too late to send word to the corsairs. They could take their chances when the escorts dropped off.

One escort galley kept close. Winds were mostly against. They would swing wide to each direction and cross behind the rowed galley in the middle. It took eight days to reach the first pinch point leaving the Bay of Tulwang. The galley stayed with them until they were back in open water and waved goodbye.

Ambassador Taj-Velindir got his sea legs in a few days but Mr. Hurandûth was green as a turtle, even in the lightly slapping waves of the inland waterway. Penandoth turned fifteen degrees to port at the point and made for the tighter straits where they had trouble the last time. 

They had trouble again. Captain kept the ship nearer the southern fingers of those lands but three new huraugh and the same galley with a stripe burned across the middle were waiting for them. The galley dropped in from the north, seeming to have missed them with the wind as the Swan Breeze tacked northwest.

That was by design. From directly upwind two more haraugh to either side of a second galley were bearing-down from a mile away. The burned galley was positioned against them retreating with the wind. The first three haraugh sealed the north. Penandoth’s next tack would be southwest and the three ships closing from the mouth started to veer south anticipating that. 

Nag Kath had his bow in hand but this could not be solved with small-arms. He said softly to the Captain, “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Continue north until you are in the haraughs’ throats. Then tack hard and make directly at the new galley.” Penandoth meant what he said but had to wait for more. The changeling turned to Bosun Ibernig, “I need you to fetch those Syndolan rockets. Put one in the forward port ballista mount, aimed straight ahead, slightly down. Have the brazier handy.” Capt’n slowly started to grin. 

Against his usual reticence about displaying magic, it wouldn’t do him or his crew any good at the bottom of of the bay. Using the bringing spell, Nag Kath raised himself to the top of the mast and tangled his legs in the rigging in-case he lost consciousness with the next stunt. Then he called to the men, “Lads, we’re in it now! Bosun’s going to fire that rocket at that Swerting galley. Whatever happens, do not look at it. Cover your eyes. Pour as many arrows and ballista as you can at the dougsh above us!”

At first Penandoth thought Nag Kath intended to destroy the ship with the rocket. His smile disappeared when he realized it would do less damage than a fire-ballista. What did the mad Elf have in mind? It had better work or the Swan would run straight into that gutting prow as the galley had the speed and wind behind her. 

When the ship got in range of the containment haraughs, Mate Jeurgens ordered the starboard crew to launch arrows and ballista but most men kept water buckets at the ready. Their range was better than the Harad who counterattacked but came-up short. One fire-ballista hit the left haraugh’s sail and it became an inferno.

That was the distraction. Let them think the Swan was trying to run the blockade into a trap! Penandoth put Mate Kevland on the tiller and pegged his eye on the Elf in the rigging. Just when he thought, Nag Kath gave him the sign and Capt’n hollered for Kevland to turn hard a-port, straight at the galley. The Swan only had the two forward ballista mounts and one was now holding the Syndolan rocket. Gharvies and Ubier loaded and launched the other as fast as they could. The haraugh escorts fanned wider in-case the Dunieshda were testing the galley’s nerve before making another sharp turn. 

Good! When they were about eighty paces apart, Nag Kath screamed for Ibernig to light the fuse. The missile was the changeling’s crude copy of Gandalf’s Nazgûl screamer. Only it wasn’t aimed to hit the ship. Instead, it fizzled, seemingly forever, then shot in front of the galley and started sparking and dancing on the surface of the water; too light to sink, too damaged to leave.

As intended, every eye on the galley deck was glued to the hapless firework spinning wildly between the two ships. Nag Kath steeled himself and shouted, “Laetha!” – the Sindarin word for ‘forget’.

Drawing the power of the water all around them, a massive yellow confusion beam fired straight at the galley as if focused by the mithril oval. He needed a direct line-of-sight to the eyes of the intended victims. Staring at the gyrating rocket accomplished that. Sailors on deck lost every thought in their heads. That included the oar-beater who ceased pounding his drum for the cadence. The galley-slaves below were unaffected but with no beat, they stopped rowing. The ships were still on a collision course so as soon as Penandoth saw the galley start drifting south, he ordered Kevland to starboard. Two minutes later, the two vessels almost scraped sides, breaking the tips of the oars as they passed. The Swan crew was sorely tempted to spit the witless sailors milling on the galley deck but there was plenty of work in getting as far away as possible. Twenty paces by, oar-slaves streamed through the hatch and exacted worse revenge on their captors. 

As soon as they dared, the crew looked to the mast. Nag Kath seemed to be asleep, or worse, but he opened his eyes and turned round to survey the damage. Not trusting the bringing spell after the water-borne confusion, he slowly made his way down the rigging like the hairy little tree-creatures in Thân zîrân.

A few of the crew didn’t close their eyes in time and were thick as slurry for several hours. When they were themselves again, the Swan was clear of danger and on its way home. They took a hit from a fire-ballista that singed the rear sail but that was the extent of the damage. They had a spare. Lhorhun lost a thumb and forefinger caught in the capstan after the sharp tack. Capt’n broke protocol and ordered the last wine keg opened in thanks for their deliverance. From here it was another five days in the westernmost bay accompanied by the fish with holes in their heads before the breadth of the Belegaer.

Nag Kath wasn’t treated much differently on the way up as he was coming down. This had been a sorcerous exercise from the start. Men were used to that. He seemed benign. Sailors are a superstitious bunch. Once you accept the truth of demons and angels, you want them on your side. He occasionally played Dukks, poorly, so he wasn’t secretly speeding behind the other players to see their cards. 

Ambassador Taj-Velindir became a fine sailor. His man Hurandûth, a scribe by training, did not. The crew wondered if he would return home. Nag Kath and Listracht spent considerable time with both of them. Dol Amroth seemed the best place to light since it was the last fief south of the Woodland Realm where folk spoke Sindarin. They would eventually have to see the King in Minas Tirith. He spoke Sindarin and so did the Queen. On board they made as much progress in the common tongue as they could. 

Reaching Bozisha-Dar took three months. Against the wind it took six to return, including a pair of nasty winter storms, but on August second in the year 90 of the Fourth Age the ship, with reinstalled Swan Breeze nameplates, made the commercial harbor in Dol Amroth just before the lunch-bell.

It was no secret. Hundreds of people came to look from their homes and work. Crewmen waved, spotted loved ones and held their kisses a while longer. The Ivandreds were too far away from the wharves to hear the commotion but Nag Kath would see them soon enough. 

They berthed in the Commercial Harbor. With a small and light cargo, the warehouse of Wheyrand and Fleck was chosen for about a third of the crates. The rest would stay onboard for the Captain to take up to Pelargir, the Rammas dock and Osgiliath. The Peristonig brothers were adamant that their own people would pay handsomely for those fabrics, certainly more than the dowdy Dúnedain. Whispering in the right ears along the route would create demand and might grease skids for the brothers' entrée into higher levels of their society.

Men were given a full Florin in nippers and silvers, double their contract rate. Seaman Lhorhun got an extra nipper for his thumb. Bosun Ibernig got three Florin. Second and First Mates got four and five respectively. Athmandal understood he would receive his share more privately. In the meantime, he took the Ambassador and aide to the Inn of Dol Amroth, the nicest place in town. A suite of rooms would serve as temporary headquarters with all the conveniences of home. Nag Kath would drop by tomorrow after arranging for them to meet the right people.

The Elf had an ethical dilemma; Captain Penandoth had been promised ten Florin or half the profit on the cargo, whichever was greater. The worm-wool would bring bright coin but that hoop of mithril was beyond price. Only Listracht knew that was boxed in swaddling in the Elf’s cabin with his bits from the interior. Melkor’s portal had to stay quiet for every possible reason. He must take it where it could be melted and put any temptation to bed. The seed of an idea grew on the way here and he would hold to that purpose saying, “Captain, you have shown the very highest intelligence, courage and nobility in your charge. Our cargo should be very profitable indeed. I have a proposal for you.”

Penandoth was silent, knowing good things come to those who listen. The Elf continued, “I would like you to take the worm-wool to the inland ports on the Swan Breeze. That done, the ship is yours, free and clear.”

Captain smiled, “I will only try to talk you out of that once.”

“No good.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

He was free. He was his own man. The ship was in perfect condition with no more than a charred sail in the hold for two engagements. This was beyond his wildest dreams two years ago when all he looked forward to was a minor Captaincy and his wraith of a wife. 

Nag Kath said more softly, “Let us speak in the next couple days, giving me time to get the contract in order.”

“Sounds fair.” He rose and shouted at the stevedores to have a care with those crates.

Listracht was been sitting on a pier piling patiently watching. Like Dal, but in many ways more so, they had much to discuss. Walking to his house Nag Kath said, “Well, my friend, what is your share of our booty?”

In jest the man grinned, “Oh, ten Florin at least!”

Not hearing the man’s humor Nag Kath agreed, “That seems reasonable.”

They let themselves in after getting baked fish and some meat for Listracht along with a gallon of cool tea. Listracht could not wait to get this off his chest, “Nag, I was only joking. I am here in service.”

“Oh, I know, but just as a senior sailor, you get a cut. If you feel guilty, help those you meet. In the meanwhile we have a great deal more service ahead.”

The Righter asked, “You need to take that band north?”

“Without doubt. It must be destroyed. It won’t work now but that does not mean it is past repair. Only the Dwarves can do that. I get along with most of them fairly well, but this will be their worst temptation. King Elessar will help, the Queen as well. Stay here tonight. I need to get up the hill and see the children.”

________________-------_______________

Hugs and kisses all around. They saw the commotion at the dock through elderly vision. Nag Kath flopped on the couch. Cal, Eniecia and dear Legorn got most of the story with the servants trying not to breathe just inside the kitchen. This might be his most fantastic yarn yet. And like the famed mariner so long ago, he brought back the proof. 

The Elf asked, “Cal, I lodged the Ambassador and his man at the Dol Amroth. How do emissaries from lost worlds present their credentials?”

“Well, to me for the next three weeks. That is convenient. Bring them round at the eleven-bell tomorrow and we will make lunch of it.” Cal got practical, “Without putting too fine a point on things, does he have the means to hold the position?”

“Like he had two rich uncles. Their native tongue is an understandable version of Sindarin but they got fair common-speech on the trip here. They will need to make the White City before too long.” Nag Kath had a sip and said softly, “So do I.”

Eniecia announced gaily, “It is such a fair day. Let us have our next pot of tea in the garden.”

They did. The Elf told them about the mithril oval. His work was still a year from complete. 

The business side concluded, Eniecia said, “While you have been discovering new worlds, we have not been sitting on our hands. It seems we will be going north ourselves. Prince Eldarion is marrying a maiden of Arnor in two months time. One would think that is nothing to us but Lord Elboron has invited our entire family to the celebration.”

Nag Kath sipped, “The ember lit?”

She beamed, “I think so, but it may be an audition. Not that it is the grandparents’ place to comment, but I understand the young people have exchanged views on the lordliest of lore.”

She became more serious, “Nag, Shur is not doing well, says he can’t get his wind.” Eniecia held back a tear, “Those dratted big Northmen only last so long, like da. She brightened, “Mina is to wed in two weeks time. I thought you ought to know.”

When the Elf said nothing, Eniecia added detail with a twinkle in her eye, “She was noticed at the theater last year and a dashing officer of the guard swept her off her feet. We renewed your box this year and they joined us for one of the performances. It is a good match. I hope that doesn’t slay your hopes.”

Nag Kath said, “I would have knocked on her door, but it is better that she marries someone who can share his whole life with her.” He wasn’t sure he meant it. Was he finally becoming an Elf now that they had all left?

The Elf was home after porridge. Listracht was snoring on his cot, aware that someone came but was not a threat. He pushed up on his arms and groaned, “Hope all is well.”

“Mostly. It seems we are going to Minas Tirith within the month, in state too, so we need to get you matching socks.”

Listracht offered helpfully, “Perhaps of the worm-wool spools.”

“There is a thought. I hope the Peristonig brothers think of a better name if this is to be the indispensable fashion for man-cart society, something of their tongue. I go to the notary now and then to get the Ambassador. Grenda will have a cook/cleaner come for the time we are here … probably no one today.”

Nag Kath went to his money box, still protected by a strong confusion ward, and got ten Florin in assorted coins. Dumping them in front of the astonished Righter he said, “You earned this, and we might not be done. Take your ease. We tie loose ends in a fortnight.”

Notary Sereand was drafting a contract but when the recently celebrated mariner dropped by, he could finish later. It only took fifteen minutes for his scribe to prepare a standard transfer of a Belfalas-built ship. Money changed hands and the Elf walked to the wharf. Penandoth was standing on the forecastle watching one of the big transports leaving with the tide. Nag Kath handed him the parcel, “Here you are. Take good care of her. I will follow in three weeks. It seems the Prince of the Reunited Kingdom is to wed. I have business there and then further north.”

Penandoth looked at the simple paper of title. The notary would file a duplicate at the hall of records in the event of later disputes. The plan was to drop a third of the worm-wool in Pelargir and let the Peristonigs peddle it in small quantities from a warehouse. Not everyone would be so trusting of Southrons but the changeling had each brother drip blood on a square of fabric, implying with a wink that fell conjuring would ensue if the clackers found discrepancies. After mesmerizing the galley, they believed him. The rest went upriver to friends of Tumlen’s family, save a small crate which Nag Kath kept for gifts and future bribes. He also had the crate of extraordinary souvenirs from the inland realm. Most of that would stay here too.

Capt’n and Elf shook hands, certain they would see each other many times in their long, successful lives. There was sadness. They had been crammed onto a tiny vessel for better than a year and were friends. Each had taken the measure of the other. Both were true. That doesn’t always happen in this world.

From there he collected the emissaries of Miraz, now to be known as Thân zîrân. They trooped up the hill in plenty of time to be welcomed by Foreign Minister Caladrion Ivandred. Cal took a few minutes to heap-on the Lordship. Tea and sweet-cakes were presented and the gentlemen were shown into his office as if they were the only thing he had to do that day. 

It helped that Cal was an obvious Dúnedain and spoke their language. Nag Kath’s impression, confirmed later by Cal, was that they were here to learn more than to preach. Taj-Velindir was in his late thirties, older than he looked but young by their count, and unmarried. Cultural recognition and trade were foremost in his and Hurandûth’s minds. Their brief was open-ended. Caladrion recommended an estate man to find suitable property for their embassy. 

Initial diplomacy took an hour then they joined Nag Kath loafing in the reception area for lunch in one of several well-appointed dining rooms encircling a hub kitchen. As arranged, Ministers Suvein along with Lohair of the Purse dropped by to welcome esteemed colleagues of Thân zîrân. Dol Amroth was the courtliest place in Middle-earth and they could lay-on the charm with a paddle. When Cal thought they were sufficient relaxed he said, “I will be sure you receive invitations to the marriage of Prince Eldarion Telcontar in Minas Tirith in October. A flotilla will leave here in three weeks. With your permission, I can arrange transportation with the Lords of this realm.”

It was hard to discern the Ambassador’s response. Nag Kath learned on the ship he was a grandson of Ar-Gimilzôr’s uncle, so on the edge of royalty but nowhere near the throne. He should know how to keep a Dukks face. But here was an invitation to the Elessar’s only son’s wedding, in the White City, where Aragorn II of the Faithful dealt Sauron’s human troops their most crushing defeat. 

The man smiled and said he could not think of a better way to meet his Lord’s Brother-King. The Elf suspected Taj-Velindir was chosen from the ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ camp of Miraz politics. He would represent his unknown country to the mightiest of men, Hobbits and a few Dwarves. Nag Kath wanted to speak with one Dwarf in particular so his timing was good too.

When he got home that afternoon, Listracht and Dal were eating the revolting mutton and vegetables on sticks sold from corner stands in the working wharves. Listracht caught the wink and excused himself to sit on the porch Nag Kath asked the young man his plans after giving him five Florin. That was more than his position on the ship earned but he had done yeoman work before and a few of the quiet things that made the trip successful. 

Athmandal put the little purse in his pocket and buttoned it carefully as the two walked outside, “I am not sure, Nag Kath. I’ll go north with the Swan Breeze and they can drop me below Pelargir on the way back so I can see my ma and da. I sent a letter yesterday. They can’t read and don’t know I can write, so I hope someone will read it to them. I’ll help Captain with the heurzis.”

Listracht and Nag Kath simultaneously said, “What?”

“Aye, that’s what Udan called the worm-wool. Can’t be having the lordly backsides of Gondor wearing worm-dougsh.”

Nag Kath said, “Stay in touch, young man. I will take a big ship that way in three weeks for the royal wedding. You take good care of Captain for me.”

“Aye, sir, and thank you, sir.”


	11. Residue

**_Chapter 11_ **

**_Residue_ **

The next three weeks saw a whirlwind of dinners with excited family, a nearly complete explanation of the trip to the scholars and arranging passage to Pelargir. Miss Glynnys was the woman found to feed Listracht in the meantime. She knew his tastes. Though never mentioned, it is possible some of his ten Florin found its way to women skilled in relieving tension. A purist might wonder about the right-living warrior, but their creed was that you didn’t take things from people. Renting was a gray-area.

Prince Althros was not making the trip. Lord and now Regent Imrothil would deputize along with his wife Yeldiseer and their children. His younger brother Kolland, his wife and their middle son Dorthans went too. Quite a few palace folk were on that ship which had escorts front and starboard. Caladrion’s family and other dignitaries were split between the Marine escorts. They had all been this way before and hoped to see the troll head.

Nag Kath and Listracht took a smaller ship sooner than the others to spend a few days in Pelargir. Nemren was included and disliked sailing as much going as coming. The sea was calmer but the horse didn’t trust it. They would have to load him on a ferry in two days when the family arrived. List was interested in the troll-hole. It was a park now since no one in their right mind would buy it, but the Elf sensed no residual of its former residents. He visited Phylless and Helien. Listracht decided he could eat nothing but nuppers to the end of his days, with a good ale, naturally. 

Ubier and Udan made their mark. It would not do but that the gentry of both westerlings and Southrons must have the heurzis in all its rainbow colors! Traditionalists and halfers railed in the streets at brazen women revealing hints of their inner-garments. A scarlet age they cried! Southrons had their own dress standards and paid bright coin for the fabric.

Ferries had been booked months in advance by Nag Kath’s group so all he and the Righter had to do was get the horse on deck and stow their packs. Talienne was more comfortable. Her older sister was on the verge of being engaged to a suitable fellow who just happened to be on the Princely barge. That was quiet, except, of course, it wasn’t. Perhaps there would be a tasteful announcement. Menalgir was getting to know a girl back home but it wasn’t as developed as Ranice's understanding.

The Elf reveled in it all. He enjoyed the pairing of young people, old ones too. It didn’t matter. This was the age of men and men need women. He sent Mina a gift of the best earrings from the trip. Some of the Ivandreds went to her wedding and said she was a beautiful bride.

The diplomats of Thân zîrân were on the ferry with Listracht, Nag Kath when they left Pelargir. It was the first time he had seen them since lunch with Caladrion. They were making strides in the common-speech, although the accent sounded a bit Dwarvish; not ideal for meeting women. It was good they crossed paths since it fell to Nag Kath to introduce them to King Elessar. That meeting would be his second with the King.

As soon as they made the Rammas dock, the family was distributed at Nag Kath’s and Shurran’s homes. Shur did seem a bit ragged but hugged and cried when he saw his sister. It was his heart. He also knew Nag could do nothing for human hearts. It wasn’t time yet but he knew what would get him. Penni was his rock with a devoted family.

They had two weeks before the nuptials and were busy all the while. After getting reasonably settled, the Elf walked up to the side gate at the seventh and said he was here to speak with Mr. Grown. It would not have mattered who he said. They were expecting him and his case was not inspected. He was shown to the family apartments. The King, Queen and groom-elect Eldarion were seated in their living room. Nag Kath bowed and sat. Aragorn said, “Interesting letter, Nag Kath.”

“Indeed, Sire. And to all, please accept my congratulations on the blessed union and to your daughters.” He gave them a condensed version of his journey. Other than a few questions, he held the floor for a bell explaining the extraordinary nation returned to the world. An introduction to the Ambassadors was arranged two days hence. 

Arwen was all business, “Did you bring it with you?”

“Yes ma’am.” Nag Kath opened his large folio case and unwrapped stout sackcloth from the bright, dented oval. “For as thick as it is, it only weighs about ten pounds. The device was held between two rock pillars pointed due west, stationed over this chasm.” He took a drawing from the same folio and passed it to them. “They claimed this was a door to the dark one’s gaol for one with the power to summon him. I was able to make it seethe with a few trick spells but wanted no part of waking him, or whatever else might be exiled. There was malevolent power. 

“I got a better sense of it healing a young woman who put her hand through it years before and was reduced to a mind of nightmares. It took the same spell Gandalf used on me. And this is important; the essence was pure black, not the black and green of orc or the troll-pit.

She continued, “And yet you can hold it now.”

“Yes ma’am. The falling rock bent it out of shape enough to ruin the effect. I believe these scratch marks here along the edge were to tune it to a note, the way musicians will stone brass cymbals for a certain pitch.”

Eldarion asked, “And these old Numenoreans did that long ago?”

“My inquires continue, sir. It has none of their markings or anyone else’s. I stayed with the new King for two months, speaking almost every day. He was glad to be quit of the thing. They are a people much devoted to lore and there was no mention of its origins. It is damaged but not destroyed. If my friend Golord in Dale is correct, only the Fundin Forge of Erebor can melt it now that Mordor is cooling. Unbound it still rings. I would rather dark lords didn't learn the new tune. With your Highness’ permission, I will speak to Gimli if he is here.”

The High King of the Reunited Kingdom, who had let his wife and son ask most of the questions, answered, “He is already here and yes, he is the one to consult.” The King asked, “May I see it?”

Nag Kath handed him the oval. Against a threat as dire as the one that vaulted him to the throne, Aragorn chuckled, “Can you imagine the uproar this will create among Durin’s folk?”

That got the royals an obscene grin, “Every time, sir. They nearly broke out in a rash over the little lump from the troll cave. It begs the question; how are relations under the mountain? I was forbidden Erebor by Stonehelm.”

Eldarion saw a ray of hope, “Stonehelm has joined his ancestors. Frôr reigns now. They are still not as close as they were with the Glittering Caves or the Blue Mountains, even Iron Hills Dwarves who trade and enjoy ale with your kin in the Buhrs.

Elessar added, “They have not reclaimed Moria, making this trove of mithril all the more political. 

Knowing they would have more time to talk at leisure the King said, “We will meet in two days with the representatives of …”

“Thân zîrân, Sire. It ties the tongue.”

After the Elf was gone, Arwen sat still and solemn. Her son and husband knew that look. She muttered, “He doesn’t know.”

Father and son waited. “He can’t know.” She looked into their eyes and realized they didn’t either. Her three millennia of hard-lessons now had no equal in the Fourth Age. She began slowly, “The last of the King’s Men, first brought low and now back into the fold of humanity. And in their grasp was a fell tool of the darkest lord. Before the fall of Numenor, Sauron and his many servants possessed this device. And yet, with all their power and cunning, they could not summon Morgoth! Now …,” she gritted her teeth, “… now the changeling glimpses into black internment at the far ends of the earth.”

Eldarion was unsure of his mother’s direction with this. “My Lady, do you still fear Nag Kath grows in power to our peril?”

He still didn’t understand. No one on this side of the sundering sea would. “No, my son. Nag Kath is not yet a hundred-year sorcerer, talented, yes, but green and wholly untrained. I was wrong about him. He was never a threat.”

The Elf Princess took a sip of tea and stared into the room, “No, he serves our house, but he touched the enemy when Melkor's vastly more powerful servants failed. It is not the changeling. Morgoth, Black Foe to our Ñoldorin fore-bearers, has crept nearer to us than anyone imagined. He has frayed his chains. This is beyond those who remain in Middle-earth. The great battle is almost upon us.”

She turned to her husband who had not considered this at all. The Quenda steeled herself and concluded, “The changeling must remain vigilant. Our weapons grow thin against the darkness mortal men have forgotten. Aragorn, my love, send him against our enemies. He may yet save us.” 

________________-------_______________

Gimli was staying with his Dwarves in quarters on the sixth. He only brought eight of his own soldiers and three ministers on ponies joining the heavily guarded retinue of the future Princess and a dozen Hobbits on even smaller ponies. Nag Kath stopped on his way down and was met by a rather large Dwarf at the door demanding to know his reason for interrupting.

“I am Nag Kath and come to welcome Lord Gimli to Minas Tirith.”

“Lord Gimli has been here six days and already welcomed by the King.”

Why do they do this?! “Please tell your Lord that I come to ask his counsel on old troubles, very old troubles. I will wait outside.”

Nag Kath walked over to the little garden along the front of the embassy row and sat on a bench with good sun against the coming autumn. There was no telling how long the longbeard would take so he let his mind wander to myriad events unfolding at once.

He was distracted enough that he did not see a woman in gray leading a small child towards him along the garden path until they were no more than thirty feet away. He waved at the lass. She waved back and looked up at her governess. The woman nodded and the girl picked a flower at her feet and brought it to him with the loveliest smile. He accepted it graciously saying, “Oh my, what is that behind your ear?”

She looked askance. His hand reached behind her head and brought back a groat. He told her, “You mustn’t leave these in your ears, young lady” and handed it to her. The lass had never seen a groat before and did not know they were kept in her ears. Eyes wide; she checked her other ear and then ran back to her nanny with the new prize. The woman smiled at him and took her charge back to the seventh gate, passing the longbeard walking to the bench, “Please come with me, Lord Kath.”

He was fairly sure he had been in this home before, perhaps the Dwarvish ambassador. Nag Kath was walked down a corridor to a large room where the Lord of the Glittering Caves was sitting with an aide. Gimli rose and welcomed his guest effusively, gripping the Elf’s forearms in their style. Elves generally don’t like being touched but the Dwarf knew this one didn’t mind. “Sit down, young fellow. Please, sit!”

Nag Kath took a chair around a low table and introduced himself to the younger Elf. Gimli mused, “How long has it been, Nag Kath?”

“Ten years at least, my friend.”

“And you say this concerns old troubles?”

Nag Kath gave a quick glance at the aide and spoke evenly, “The oldest, sir.”

“Buhrer son of Buhn, please see to our guests this evening”

The fellow nodded in understanding and bowed before leaving. When the door clicked, Nag Kath unbuckled his folio and slid it across the table unopened. Gimli hesitated a moment as if unsure he really wanted to see what new calamity the Elfling brought. He pulled the cover back and exhaled, “Whoah” as if it took his breath away.

Gimli, Son of Gloin, slowly grasped the piece expecting it to be much heavier, looked around the edges and put it down exactly as it had lain. Wind recovered, “I thought it was a myth, a terrible old story to frighten little ones when they didn’t eat their porridge. You have outdone yourself, Master Elf. Where did you get this?”

“In the land of Thân zîrân a thousand leagues below the Anduin, the last of the Black Numenoreans. I visited them and persuaded their leaders to abandon the worship of Morgoth. This was to summon him.”

“Pursuaded?”

“After a fashion. There was an abrupt change in management.” He described the ambush in Mordor the same way.

Gimli grinned while he cleaned old weed from his pipe and reloaded it. After the perfect puff he purred, “You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.”

The Elf gave him the shortest possible version of essential events, particularly the positioning and damage to this artifact. The Dwarf smoked silently throughout. When Nag Kath was done Gimli said, “Fair is fair. This was rumored to be crafted by Sauron with the aid of the Dark Dwarves. Numenor was destroyed, Sauron was reduced to spirit and the King’s-Men were slowly driven from their holdings in the north. My father's clan was nearer the mountains, but we all heard of this. It was claimed a portal, a rip in the void, a path around the guarded Door of Night."

A final puff, “We thought this sunk beneath the wrath of Numenor’s bitter end. Now, you walk in with the abomination like you bought it in the market! Is this where the rock hit it?”

“I think so. I was trying to look frightened at the time.”

“What do you need from me, Nag Kath.”

“My friend Master Golord once said only the Fundin Forge could melt this into something that can’t summon dark lords from the doom. I can’t go there anymore. Mordor’s fiery pits are now just bubbling mud. I would see this destroyed but I need your counsel.”

Gimli considered loading another pipe but put it on the table and asked, “Young man, do you have any idea what this is worth?”

“A lot, but no, and I would not take a nipper of the gold Smaug lay on. In truth, Master Dwarf, I am more concerned that it cannot be restored.” Nag Kath spent some time showing Gimli the little file marks made to vibrate the correct pitch. It seemed irreparable since no one knew the original resonance, but it would be less resonant melted into jewelry.

Gimli looked at his pipe before saying, “I will be here for the wedding and some afterwards. Let us speak again after I get a few discreet opinions. This will be the largest gathering of its kind since, well, since we dined in Éomer’s halls.”

Nag Kath chuckled, “My timing is better than usual, Master Dwarf. Oh, I made friends of the Dúnedain nation in the south. They sent Ambassadors up on my ship and are come to the nuptials. I will be sure to introduce you.”

“You are full of surprises, Master Elf.”

________________-------_______________

Introducing the Ambassadors to King Elessar Telcontar and Queen Arwen went well. If there was a time when hard feelings would flare; that was it. They would stay through the winter meeting other representatives of the great northern map but all agreed Dol Amroth was the best headquarters since this would be a seafaring relationship. The understanding with King Tarquin was the possibility of more northern traders coming down for fabric and other things in exchange for popular items among his people. 

Listracht took rooms on the first near the largest group of Rhûnen for tidings of his original land. He spent time with the Khandians too and could pass for one of them from almost any district along the mixed-blood borderlands. He was to stay close until after the wedding and probably return to the east. List also bought a good horse and visited Osgiliath where right-livers had something of a community. Nag Kath still intended to go east again. If List wasn’t too old and feeble, perhaps he might tag-along. 

The Righter reported the final tally wasn’t in, but it seemed the worm-wool heurzis would bring about seventy Florin. Not counting the mithril, after his exorbitant bonuses and general lack of business sense, the Elf lost twelve. The Peristonigs were made-men, having never once been threatened by Umbari. It would not be long before merchants spoke with the Ambassadors about trade ships. Captain’s and mate’s logs were worth their weight in mithril too.

The Ivandreds and Librons did not see a lot of Uncle Nag until four days before the wedding when Prince Elboron’s party crossed the Anduin and rode in state to the Steward’s quarters on the seventh. Talienne had matured quite a bit in the time since Lord Barahir’s visit. Her older, practical sister and close cousins steadied her outlook. 

The marriage went fine except for a mass of people who thought they could get onto the top level from the side gate and could not. No one was killed, but folk sustained an assortment of bumps and bruises. Nag Kath missed the actual Saying to heal the more serious injuries. 

The reception was more interesting. After borrowing a fresh shirt, Nag Kath returned for two of several gatherings starting with the diplomatic. By then, the emissaries of Thân zîrân had met the Ambassadors of Rohan, Dale, the Dwarf realms and Hobbits. Listracht came, clean and presentable, and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Unexpectedly they met Mr. Yond (shortened to something pronounceable) from Khand. He was stunned to find anyone who knew his lands and tongue, much less two of them. 

At the main gathering, Nag Kath had a chance to speak briefly with the bride and groom. Aranthal was the daughter of the Protector of Evendrim, a Lord Governor of the province with Annúminas as the seat. She was twenty-eight and had attractive features that did not really go together. There was great humor hiding behind her wedding smile and considerable intelligence too. It might matter that this was a joining of the two great former kingdoms but they met and fell in love the old-fashioned way, helped by the fact that he was often there.

Prince Elboron was left unsurrounded for a moment so Nag Kath walked over and said hello to him and Angalica. The man announced, “A fair couple. I wish them great joy.”

“Aye, I would wager that from Arnor, she can ride as well as most troopers.”

The Prince agreed, “She had better. They will be between capitals often.”

Angalaca had other fish to fry, “Now, it seems my son corresponds with your grand-daughter.”

“Something of a bookworm too. I confess I have filled her head with the most outlandish stories, some of them true.”

“So I heard.” Elboron seemed unusually reticent and tried to lead the conversation away from family, “I met the Ambassadors. As I understand it, you sailed a ship to the edge of nowhere, found a country of Black Numenoreans and made peace with them?”

“That’s about the sum of it. It reminds me a great deal of your Ithilien. If I may be so bold, have them out to your capital for a week of diplomacy. They are both good riders too.”

Angalica said, “That is a splendid idea, dear. Leave that with me.” The woman brought the thread back to Talienne, “And yes, she is your …?”

“Great, great grand-daughter. Go back a few more greats and her grand-da slew Smaug, kin to your house through Tillith of Rohan. I have four of them in Dol Amroth all about the same age and two others are courting as well. I must say I enjoy that.”

Angalica insisted, “You be sure to come too. Barahir enjoys your tales as much as anyone.”

Nag Kath nodded as her husband led her to the recently spotted Prince Haleth of Rohan. Barahir walked over with a goblet of Dorwinion and said, “I am fortunate in my parents, Nag. Are they matchmaking again?”

“I can’t tell. Your da wasn’t too chatty on the subject.”

“He invited a lass of Lebennin to join us next week. Her da is to be governor come the new year.”

The Elf turned a bit more serious wondering how Talienne might take that. “You never did see my archives.”

“So you are the matchmaker! Yes, I would be honored. Mother and father must leave tomorrow. I’ll stay a while longer.”

Just when the Elf needed a distraction, Barahir said, “Oh, have you met Princess Millicend Telcontar?” He hadn’t. She was a plump lass with a remarkable smile and sense of fun. Had he known or cared, a young man from the Purse was interested and met no obstacles from her parents. He was talking with the Purse man from Rohan so Nag Kath did not meet him but she was pleasant and glad of his safe return from interesting lands.

Nag Kath walked home earlier than the rest of the guests. He knew he would see the people he needed to soon enough. The spirit of matrimony was in the air because the next day Lieutenant Zurowen asked Field and Grenda for the hand of Raniece. It was no surprise and they agreed warmly. He was a fine young man, even if a little leery of Uncle Nag. They would keep this in the families until the royal wedding was over. The days after such unions were political as folk who seldom saw each other wrestled with things better done in person. Since it was poor form to argue after a wedding, it made for good diplomacy. 

Nag Kath spent his time with Shurran and Penni, often including the older Ivandreds since they were staying there too. The Elf was able to pull considerable congestion from the Shur’s lungs and put him on a regimen of horrible tasting teas and herbs to keep them clear. With Penni’s firm hand, he would take his medicine. All of Shurran’s children and grands were fine, although Shur was concerned that one marriage was not rosy. Penni didn’t like him airing that but the big Northman said his mind. 

Older than Eniecia; Shurran’s family started later so his younger grandchildren were still small enough to enjoy the towering Uncle Nag pulling groats out of their ears. The older boy Reyaldar liked archery. All thought that good. It kept the spirit of Bard alive. Nag Kath never saw any of them that he did not imagine the shot from the tower. Shur kept a framed sketch of the attack angle coming from the south of Lake Town, an uninspired landscape to anyone else.

Nag Kath invited Lord Barahir and the Field Ivandreds to dinner that Saturday. Food was catered and the other relatives staying there remembered things they had to do that night. Raniece asked to be excused for very excusable reasons making it just the five of them. Neither of the young people said much and the older ones tried not to dominate the conversation so the meal stuttered around short bursts of speaking with awkward pauses. 

The pace improved with the anticipated look through Uncle Nag’s archives. He sat the youngsters to either side of him on the couch with Grenda and Field across in comfortable chairs. Putting the folio on the low table he flipped through things he had not seen himself in a few years. Having done this before, he added slight drama like the Keepers and Sayers of the east. It always started with early pictures of here followed by Orthanc, sketches of Trum Dreng with the irreplaceable Talereth and working to Dale. None of these Conaths had ever been there and they were all fascinated with their distant homeland. The picture of Shurran and old Field on the porch was touching. Seeing Eniece entranced them. 

That led to the aqueduct, Flor, Barahir’s grand-da at the dedication and Nag Kath’s statue. He laughed every time he saw it. There were Khand, Mordor, Pelargir, Phylless, Orlo, Hobbits, the Carstors wedding, Bard II. It took a while. Finally came pictures of the newly discovered kingdom below the horizon. Barahir agreed it looked a good deal like Annúminas. Elvish and Dwarvish halls got the most gasps. Minas Tirith was of like scale but the massive Mallorn trees of Lorien were still extraordinary. 

Grenda was nodding so the older Ivandred’s walked up to their room after saying goodnight. The Elf went to the kitchen to let the cook go home and got another pot of tea against the early autumn. After pouring, he took a mug outside to Barahir’s guard and left the young people on the couch, purposely not using his Elf hearing. They talked for another half bell. Nag Kath gave him a couple books with blood oaths to return them someday. Talienne sat on the couch for another half hour looking at the folio, especially her grannas Eniece and Mrs. Borenne. She did not share her conversation, but she smiled.

________________-------_______________

The Dol Amroth contingent prepared to leave three days later. Nag Kath expected long rides the other direction so he saw a lot of them with occasional trips to the first to check on Listracht. After waving goodbye at the Rammas Gate, the Elf asked to see Lord Gimli. There was no foolishness at the door. He still had to wait, but he waited inside.

The Dwarf Lord came out to the hall himself and they shook hands. Gimli showed him to a small room with a good fire going after the first hard-frost of the season. They sat with another longbeard. If the fellow was there now, he was trustworthy. It was not too early in the day for a Rohan Red.

The Lord of the Glittering Caves raised his tankard in toast to the honored fallen and took a long pull. Then he said, “Nag Kath, this is Tornbor, son of your friend Tombor. He is ambassador here. I have taken the liberty explaining your concerns.”

Tornbor boomed, “It is a pleasure, Lord Kath. Your service to our people is renowned.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. And just Nag Kath, please.”

The Dwarf, not a youngster by any means, said gravely, “Gimli described the object you acquired, a large band of what seems pure or near pure mithril.”

“Aye, sir, tuned like a gong to a fell pitch. It was bent in a rock-slide and lost its tone, but still something I would rather the world did not have, or even know exists. Gimli thought it was legend. I say; let it remain so. My friend Golord in Dale consulted on other mithril work long years ago and said one of the Erebor forges is the only one known able to make something useful of it.”

“Golord is friend to me, Nag Kath. That is where I got some of my favorite tales of your exploits. Do you still have the little knife?”

The Elf dug in his pocket and handed it to Tornbor. He did not open it but spent a few moments looking at the simple, elegant design. Giving it back he said, “I think the work can be done. King Frör will not object to its destruction but will want to retain the metal. It is hard to imagine a fair exchange, it has been so long since such material has been seen in that quantity.”

Yes … King Elessar mentioned Moria remains unclaimed. Nag Kath held his chin before saying, “Sirs, I do not need anything comparable. If I am assured that this can never be used by adherents of Melkor, whatever you think is fair is fine by me. I did stipulate that I was not interested in old gold, but other than that, I do not care.”

Tornbor and Gimli spoke in their tongue, one of the few Nag Kath did not know. It was only a few sentences by each until Gimli said, “I will vouch for its destruction. Will you take the object there yourself?”

“I think I should, if I am permitted Under the Mountain. I have other business in Dale.”

Tornbor nodded, “I will see to it personally. When will you leave?”

“Soon. I can travel with you to the north.”

The younger Dwarf guffawed, “I am the Ambassador here, but my old friend Gimli might take you as far as his caves if you can tolerate his stories.”

Gimli growled, “He can tolerate them. We leave Friday.”

Nag Kath sent a note to Lord Barahir that their ride would have to wait but he was welcome to take the curious Righter Listracht for much better versions of his own placid stories. He gave Shur another treatment for his wind and ordered him to be here when he returned. 

A skeleton troop of the Arnorans was also walking their horses alongside the trotting ponies just as they had done coming here. Gimli was the oldest of them and still capable of a full day’s ride. Traveling with Dwarves and Hobbits takes time. That was fine since they are such sociable folk with the best campfire yarns and songs. Arnorans are fine poets when coaxed into reciting. In exchange they wanted to hear Nag Kath’s tales of impossible lands. Western men seldom visited the east. The Elf often wondered at Aragorn’s rangers protecting the wilds. Now that the peace was won, men turned their attention to business and farming and raising families. Eastern and western traders generally brought goods to growing market towns on the borders and did business there; efficient, but with little cultural exchange.

Gimli and Nag Kath took a few hours here and there to discuss the Fellowship. Legolas was in the northern Elven Halls at last word. The Dwarf Lord said the son was more popular than his father among the Silvans. Gimli had never married, neither had the Elf Prince. Nag Kath took the chance of asking if Legolas was there to seek a bride.

Gimli chuckled, “I do not rule it out, but he did not say as much. I think he lost a love some time back and does not think she can be replaced.” Softly, and with a touch of melancholy, the Dwarf added, “I thought he would be here.”

Nag Kath asked with genuine care, “My Lord, what keeps him in Middle-earth?”

“This stays here. His great adventure was with the four breeds of the west. Being away from your own kind makes it hard to go back. Those swan boats only sail one way.” The great Dwarf brightened, “On the subject of the fair ones, you have had several wives.”

“I have, sir, the last for fifty wonderful years. Friends tell me to go to the wood Elves and ply my suit, but can you imagine me singing Syndolan songs drinking your red beer?” He laughed, “I would be decried the simple cousin and relegated to washing chamber pots!”

Gimli howled before composing himself and agreeing, “Aye, I made a great friend in Legolas, but my folk do not understand either. It quickened in the most terrible of times and has endured. Just as you seek fire hot enough to destroy that fell device, we had to find the same. Let us hope you found the last need for flame.”

King Elfwine of Rohan was at his country estates and his elder son was still in Minas Tirith. The Steward of Meduseld had a fine dinner of all the things Dwarves and Hobbits love before they groaned their way off to Helm’s Deep. Nag Kath spent those last two nights with Master Feldram Bracegirdle and his son Merry of the Shire. He was a relative of Samwise Gamgee who was said sailed to the Undying Lands by virtue of being a ringbearer, if only for a few hours. Sam’s wife died and kindly Elves thought he might find succor in a new place. Even Master Bracegirdle was not absolutely sure of that. Samwise left the Red Book in a daughter’s care. Nag Kath said he spoke of it to Barahir and that the man might want to read it in his pursuit of telling folk the great new stories.

Both Bracegirdles said they would let her know should such a man seek entrance into their lands. 

Nag Kath said goodbye at the road to Helm’s Deep and turned north towards Fangorn. The forest seemed larger than before. The road around it had been moved a quarter-mile further east as trees grew over the original. That seemed queer. Men would usually rather cut the trees and be heated by the wood than grade a new trail. 

On familiar ground, the rest of the trip was ordinary. He did not stop at Lorien and only waited a day near Rhosgobel. Now late fall, merchant traffic from the east did not interfere with travelers making their last runs to Dale. He camped with a party of Dwarves and told them of meeting their kin in Minas Tirith, not quite mentioning he was going to Erebor.


	12. Forgotten Immortal

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_Forgotten Immortal_ **

Dale beckoned, just as it had ninety years ago. It wasn’t much different. Built from the stones of the hill after Smaug, Dale was a sturdy place indeed. The Lonely Mountain top was lost in clouds today. Nag Kath nudged Nemren to the Kathen office.

He walked inside to greet a young woman at the desk who was the only one not at lunch. His name did not ring any bells. Not sure who ran the place these days, he asked and was told it was Gerimandar Juskind but he was only in two days a week and this wasn’t one of them. She didn’t particularly want to give the tall young stranger Juskind’s address. There were people in his house, probably renters, so he left a note and took his horse to the King’s Arrow.

The Arrow was a tradition in Dale. Things were repaired and restored to look the same. He got a nice room with a view of Erebor and had lunch. Waiting out a shower, Nag Kath wrote to King Barandor as a Lord of Dale. He did not expect to hear back but that was a common courtesy if ‘upstairs’ was interested.

The Elf had returned about every ten years until Phylless was elderly. It had been over twenty this time. Renelda, his primary contact after Brenen died, passed-away herself ten years before. Even up in the world, few of Bren and Bard’s descendants could read and write. Perhaps some of the great-grandchildren remembered him. There were lots of them and they wouldn’t be hard to find. When the drizzle stopped, Nag Kath wandered down to Burry’s house. The woman who answered said she was related, but she wasn’t about to let him in the door. He left her one of a half dozen cards he wrote at the inn.

His next stop was the former home of Lorens and Lotold Brightens. The knock was answered by a young Hobbit who was much more courteous than Burry’s heir. Lorald Castthorn inherited from his uncle who died eight years ago after getting the place when Lorens died seven years before that. As usual, Nag Kath hopped over the fence rather than crouch through the house and the Hobbit brought mugs of tea from inside. Lorald had heard stories of the parties. Somewhere in the clutter was a sheet the Elf had written with Syndolan lyrics for those new to mannish singing. Nag Kath told him how well his forebearers danced.

No one from Kathen was in touch the next day so the Elf strolled where he was fairly sure he would be remembered. A shortbeard answered the door and gawked at the tall man who said; “Good day, I am Nag Kath here to see Master Golord.”

The response was unavoidable, “Mr. Golord does not receive unannounced salesmen.”

Nag Kath pulled the pen-knife from his trouser pocket – not a fearsome threat if he meant violence. He handed it to the young Dwarf saying, “If you would show him this, he may reconsider.”

Half a bell later, the blink of an eye in Dwarvish time, Golord himself came to the door and roared, “Good to see you, it has been too long.”

“Far too long. You seem well.”

“And doing well, though my family does the heavy lifting these days.”

Now 231, he was showing his age but still hale and hardy. Golord handed back the knife and showed his guest to a sitting room rather than the studio. Nag Kath gave him the short version of events in the south. 

Golord asked, “How is your family here in Dale, Nag Kath?”

“I can’t say. I hardly know any of them and will spend a few days tracking them down. I hope not to be a novelty.”

“Ha! Before I make you ask, Frór is now King Under The Mountain. Relations between Erebor and Dale are less frosty than they were twenty years ago, but not robust. Between us, Mr. Kath, You were right to destroy that ring. I fear sitting on that much gold is unhealthy. ”

The Elf grinned, “Especially after it was sat on by Smaug like a hen on her eggs. I fear that is why I am here.” He gave the master craftsman the letter from Tornbor. The Dwarf master cracked the seal and read it twice, very carefully.

Nag Kath added more soberly, “I have another for the gates.”

Golord was tempted to say something about the Elf’s amazing ability to find what Dwarf miners could not but this was of great moment. “He said gravely, “How long are you here, young man?”

“As long as it takes. I will see what of my family is left and get a few things. I do not know the contents of your letter. What is your counsel, old friend?”

“Tomorrow I will send one of my grandchildren to King Frör with this. When I hear back, I will tell you. Are you at your old home?”

The King’s Arrow. It has brought me good fortune.”

________________-------_______________

With no reply from the Kathen office, the next day Nag Kath walked up to Brenen’s old house. He was received and admitted to the foyer he knew so well while the servant told the mistress. Mrs. Juskind was Bug’s youngest daughter and remembered the Elf. She looked in her late fifties if the Elf knew his Northwomen. She nervously invited him to sit as tea was served. Her husband was poorly which might explain not hearing back. Perhaps they would meet again.

When he got back to his room, a young man was waiting for him. There was no mistaking his bloodlines. “Wallach Grandenar, glad to meet you sir!”

“And you, Mr. Grandenar. I am Nag Kath.”

“We have a picture of you. I must say, you are bearing up quite well.”

It wasn’t too early for ale so they went into the restaurant and had one. 

“I am sorry it took so long for someone from the family to visit, Lord Kath.”

The Elf shook his head and said, “No trouble, and we need to lose the ‘lord’.” He asked about the business.

“Well, the Fal family owned the majority and bought Bard’s side out at a fair price, uhm maybe fifteen years ago. I’m from Bard’s line so I got a share, but we are no longer involved. As far as I know, they are doing well.”

“I was just up at a Mr. Juskind’s home. The place looks the same.”

Wallach considered that and said, “He married into Brenen’s folk. We get along fine but there are so many, we don’t really know each other very well.”

“Then tell me of Bard’s lot.”

Wallach smiled, “My grandparents on my mother’s side were Bart and Graciel, I’m sure you remember them.”

“Oh yes.” Yes, he did.

“Forgive me, Lord ... Uncle Nag, we heard you died.”

“No, just busy. I’m immortal.”

Wallach said, “People say the silliest things. “Well, we must have a get-together. I’ll attend to that and be in touch.”

Uncle Nag smiled, “I would enjoy that. You can reach me here. Oh, do you know what happened to my things?”

The young man looked a bit less cheerful, “When we were told you died, your property was divided among the Fal heirs.”

Nag Kath considered that a moment and said, “That is to be expected. It was the Mason’s, some shops and somewhere else.”

“Indeed, a couple lots outside the wall that the Dwarves bought.”

His house too! The Elf sent letters every few years so they knew he wasn’t dead. Bren’s family pulled a fast one, probably on Bard's family too, maybe why no one wanted to see him. His days in Dale had ended in the eyes of man. It took him longer to notice.

To most people it was a lot of money, but he had more than he needed in the south and decided not to fuss. Nag Kath made himself smile, “Serves me right for being away so long. I am really more interested in my personal effects. Do you know if they survived?”

“Some did, sir. My aunt has a few boxes in her basement. We can go after we finish our ale.”

"Hello B!"

"Uncle Nag! My this is a surprise." Aunt Bethen lived in Bart’s home. She remembered Nag Kath well - though it was a surprise to see a dead man walk in the front-room, even if he was an Elf. In quick reflection those tidings came from unreliable sources. No matter! "Bless me! How splendid! Walla, wherever did you find him?"

Uncle Nag answered for him, "I put some feelers out. Things have changed."

The good-nartured lady smiled a knowing smile. "Welcome back." That said a lot.

"It does my heart good to hear you say it. Are you well, love?"

"Right as rain." Bethen was born with a weak leg but she managed admirably and never it let it bother her sunny disposition. Alas, she did not read. He should have sent his letters to her. Her older sister, Wallach's mother Emmah was born right after Nag Kath was here with Phylless. Before he asked she said, "We lost Em a couple years ago. A couple, right?"

Wallach answered, "Closer to three, Aunt B."

Hot tea for the guest was ordered. Bart and Grace were good parents to Bethen and Em. Walking with a cane she showed him a picture of Graciel he drew when she was looking out a window during their time together. It was next to one of Bart done later. And another of the family when B was eight.

Evidently the Bard clan had Nag Kath’s pictures in many of their homes. Bren’s folk might have lost the trail with him dying young, but Bard made sure the family knew who had buttered their bread. The Elf smiled remembering the Maedos’ tradition of having the patriarch memorialized each generation. He was fairly sure the one hanging was the only picture he had ever drawn of himself. Wallach had to get back to his locksmith business and said he would be in touch. Meanwhile, Aunt Bethen summoned an elderly retainer saying, “Wilfred, please take Lord Kath to the basement. We have some of his things.”

Poor Wilfred tried to hold the candle steady without getting wax on his hand as he crept down the stairs. Both Khandian rugs were rolled side-by-side among several crates. The tops were on but not nailed shut so he took the first one off and saw mostly clothes and a few household items. The little grubs that eat wool aren’t found this far north. With a good cleaning, someone could wear them. 

The next box was the one he came for. It had a large folio of older pictures and Lord Altheras’ sword. It was sure to need polishing but had been sealed in grease before storage, good thinking; that! The third box was more clothes, candlestick holders, some of Eniece’s little boxes and a pair of her earrings made by Bren’s son Gerrulth in a silver case. He kept those and several boxes.

To Wilfred’s relief, the Elf carried the folio and sword himself. Setting his treasures by the door, Nag Kath thanked the servant and said to Aunt Bethen, “Thank you, dear. I will only keep these. You are welcome to divide the rest or give them to the needy as you see fit.” He leaned in quietly, “Those carpets were very fine in their time. You might find a floor for them yourself.”

“Oh Uncle Nag, that would be lovely. Samarah at the Flower Society serves with the Queen’s Charity. I shall ask her about the clothes.” The graying woman winked and added, “She has a couple strapping sons who can carry them too.”

He walked into the King’s Arrow just as group was being seated for a bride’s party before her nuptials. Standing off to the side was a lovely woman in a pale blue dress. Trying not to stare, his mind raced back until a gentleman took her by the hand to their chairs. 

The sword could stand professional attention. It hadn’t been swung in anger since fighting through Eriador, but even with grease, rust was forming. Tallow had yellowed the scabbard. 

The folio was fascinating. He hadn’t seen these since Shurran sat next to him. There was another angle of the Wild Huntsman and some sketches of Lord Thranduil’s Halls. A discarded portrait of Ardatha and Reyald – he would keep that for southern Conaths. On second thought, he would have the front desk send it to Buhr Austar. Not far down he found the sketches of the Elf Slipper flower he used to discover his guardi tracker. Half of these were of Dale itself, some architectural, some just gardens and fountains. They would make good gifts for the family if Wallach wanted to pass them around.

At the bottom was a formal portrait of Queen Delatha. It was one of the best pieces he had ever done. The artist could not remember why he still had it. He resolved to take it as far up the palace as he could get.

Wallach was as good as his word. The next day Nag Kath received a note that the Chandlers’ Hall had been reserved three nights hence. The heirs of Brenen and Bard would be invited. It was short notice but what else would they do on a Wednesday night?

The next morning he took a tube with the Queen’s portrait to the palace gate and said he was Lord Kath with a gift for the King and Queen. This time he had his hair back so his ears were showing. He might be one of the reclusive Elves of the Woodland Realm so a Corporal escorted him to the main door and asked for the assistant Chamberlain.

The big Northman saw him with the greeting; “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”

“My name is Nag Kath, formerly of this city. Many years ago I drew a picture of the King’s great grandmother. It was recently discovered and I wanted to give it to their Highness' as a token of respect.”

The man asked, “May I see it please?”

He wanted to make sure that tube didn’t have a sword inside. Nag Kath unrolled the large sheet and the man was instantly lost in her serenity. The Chamberlain reluctantly took his eyes from the drawing and asked softly, “Was it you who drew her and King Bard together?”

“Yes, at the same time.”

Chamberlain Intressen usually gave reasons people could go no further but this was different. He asked the guest to sit and took the portrait down the corridor. Five minutes later, he asked Nag Kath to follow.

King Barandor was forty eight and looked quite like Shurran had at that age. After receiving his bow, the man walked over and said, “This is a treasure sir. I was told you drew the original as well.”

“I did, Sire. There is quite a tale behind it.”

His Lordship smiled, “I have heard some of that. Are you in Dale long, Lord Kath?”

“Some time, sir. I have business with the Dwarves.”

Touching his beard in kingly fashion, Barandor stated, “I would very much like you to return and tell my sister and me your recollections.” Intressen was discreetly listening near the door. The King motioned him over and the retainer said, “Wednesday afternoon is free after the Thain of Riding, My Lord.”

Barandor looked to the artist and asked, “How is the three-bell?”

“That would be splendid, Sire. I am meeting some of my family that evening and can remember old stories for them too.”

“Family, Lord Kath?”

“I was married to a woman of Esgaroth long ago.”

The King muttered to himself, “Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

“Ah, Sire, I cannot outrun my past. That is all tied to your noble granna too.”

Barandor smiled, “Then we may need to fortify at the telling.”

His last official stop was business and he had waited until now because it might inform his decisions. The Royal Bank of Dale never changed. Oiled wood in the north lasts forever and the racks of little filing drawers lining the second story could have been plucked from King Brand’s memory.

The Elf left his hair Elvish and asked to speak to a manager. He was shown to a table away from the main floor. Mr. Tellush, a tall, lank man of less than full Northman heritage, stood to shake hands. The name Nag Kath did not ring bells here either but the clerk was professional and patient.

“Mr. Tellush, I was a resident of the city long ago. I had accounts here in my name, my business name and, hopefully, an account that was entailed to a charity many years hence if I never returned. I was hoping you could see what of those remain.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kath. Would you sign this card so we can look in our records?”

The Elf wrote his signature and his chop since he didn’t write well when he opened the original account. Assistant Manager Tellush took it upstairs to those fabled files and had one of the clerks rummage about. In only ten minutes he was back down at the desk, pale as a ghost. “Mr. Kath, our records show that your personal account and your business account were distributed to heirs some nine years ago when you were declared dead.”

The man almost winced, waiting for the explosion. What he got was, “I thought as much. Thank you for looking.”

Off the hook for having given this man’s money to his heirs, the manager said, “Sir, were, excuse me, are you the Kath of Kathen? One of my nieces traces back to that family.”

“Were, it seems. My adopted son Brenen was last two letters, now long gone.” He added ‘adopted’ so the man wouldn’t think his niece was Elf-kind. I am hoping that some of the heirs will come to a gathering Mr. Grandinar is organizing.”

Tellush said, “Then, sir, there is this trust to the Right Lung.” 

He handed the card to the Elf who corrected, “That’s Right-Living.”

The man wrote that beside the smudged original in pencil and said, “If you will excuse me again, I will get your balance.” 

This time he went to the main floor clerks who delved where only the lordly are allowed. It took longer but he returned saying, “You have fifty-six Florin and twelve on deposit, sir.”

“Excellent. I will need a draft to move it to your sister bank in Gondor. Thank you for taking such good care of my family, Mr. Tellush.”

He walked back to the inn surprised there was anything at all. 

Wednesday at three arrived to find the Elf waiting in the hall outside the sunny room where the Queen would have sat for her portrait if she wasn’t so sick. It was drawn from memory. A different attendant showed him where the King and Queen were sitting with Princess Dorlanee and one of her daughters. Nag Kath bowed and was seated at the low table.

Usually one waits for the royals to make the first statement but Nag Kath opened the little tube and removed several of the drawings he saved from Aunt Bethen’s basement. Rolling them out on the table; the top sheet was King Bard and Rosscranith at this very table discussing matters of state. Below it was Burry barking orders at militia archers drawing for the straw-men. The last was one of many showing the dragon’s attack angle towards the Esgaroth tower.

Nag Kath said, “I thought you might have a place for these, Sire, My Lady.”

The Princess was very interested. Younger than her brother, she had two daughters, both nearing marriageable age. She asked, “Who is this, Lord Kath?”

“Davet Rosscranith, ma’am, long a counselor to both Kings Bard and Bain.”

The King recalled, “I know the name well. It is good to put a face to it.”

Nag Kath hadn’t realized just how long it would take unraveling everything that came of Lord Carstor’s portrait. It led to Bain, Eniece, the Easterlings, Kathen, sorcery and feeding orcs in the wastelands. Towards the end, the Princess’ daughter Morenna asked, “What of this picture, Lord Kath? It seems quite ordinary.”

“That, My Lady, is from the tower in Lake Town showing Smaug's approach when your esteemed forebearer shot him from the sky. I took my grandson Shurran Conath up there to see where his great, great grand-da saved the world.”

It was quarter of the six-bell before he left so he walked straight to the family party and told most of the same stories again. Very few of Brenen’s line came and they were personal friends of Wallach with no ties to the Kathen fortune. Nag Kath was able to answer many questions about the early days of what was now a Dalish dynasty. None of the senior Kathen folk of either side showed. 


	13. Fell and Fair

**_Chapter 13_ **

**_Fell and Fair_ **

****

All that remained was hearing from Erebor. It was another three days before one of the longbeards of the great city came to ask Nag Kath to return with him the next morning. The Elf agreed and would meet him at the gate on the eight-bell. 

For the first time since he showed Gimli, Nag Kath held the oval in both hands. It was kept in Nemren’s oat bag thinking that would be the last thing taken other than the horse itself. How many of you are still out there? Will this world never be rid of you? Might this square the Uruk’s account with the world? He hoped not. An immortal in the world of men needs to keep his mind occupied.

The longbeard was Brerenfor and he was a soldier. He also had a pony so this would not be a tedious trip. They arrived shortly after the twelve-bell and were passed through every door, accumulating more and higher warriors at each. It takes a while to get through a Dwarf hall. Nag Kath knew the way. Shortly before the throne room, the entourage veered down a corridor, emerging in the rooms of Lord Tombor. Master and advisor to Stonehelm and now Frör; he was the very spirit of duty. The Elf bowed and waited. 

Tombor boomed, “Greetings, young man, though man you are not. It is good to see you again. You bring us something?”

“Something I would like unmade, my friend.”

“May I see it?”

Nag Kath approached with the grain sack and removed the oval. He had painted rust-colored swatches randomly around the edges to make it look like scrap steel if anyone happened on it by chance. The Elf handed it to the seated Lord. In one powerful hand the Dwarf examined it closely and said, “It seems my every hearing of you involves some lost artifact. You have outdone yourself this time.”

The Elf said nothing. Tombor rose, his forked beard completely white, “Come, we must see the King.”

They tramped up two flights of stairs but turned before the throne room into where Nag Kath first met Frör with King Thorin after the Dwarf Ring was destroyed. King Frör was sitting where his father had been nearing sixty years ago. The ruler of the Dwarf realm accepted the Elf’s bow and motioned Tombor to bring the fell band. Frör held it wordlessly and put it on the table to gaze on it for quite a while before looking up and saying, “It has been some time since you were here, and you have put yourself in high trust of our good faith.”

“I saw no risk, My Lord. Durin’s Folk have always treated me with utmost honesty.”

The King continued, “Be that as it may, I understand your conditions are that we must melt this from its current, dangerous form. We may keep the metal and you leave compensation to us. Is that correct?”

“It is, sir.”

“Those were promises made you by those who speak for me in other lands and they will be honored. The forge has been heating two days and is ready now. Are you prepared to surrender this?”

“I am, sir.”

The King was still for several more moments. Then he grasped the frame and said, “This way.” 

Other than Bilbo and Smaug, Nag Kath might be the only non-Dwarf to ever see the innards of the foundry. The Fundin forge was not the largest and it sat near the edge of the furnace cavern. They walked along a wide ledge a story above it. The heat was nothing like he had ever felt – more like pressure than temperature. From here he saw a fierce red glow around a center crucible. King Frör handed the artifact to one of two Dwarves in heavy leather suits covering their entire bodies. The workman trudged almost over the pot and clipped the band to a thin steel line strung diagonally over the furnace. The King nodded and the smith connected a smaller cable. He deliberately lowered it towards the crucible until it was over the mouth and gave it enough slack to slip into the cup.

It took very little time to first glow through a series of extraordinary colors and then capitulate to the heat, covering the bottom of the crucible.

Frör smiled saying, “Very well. Let us return to my office.”

Since they left, a small, sturdy box of oak and brass had been placed by the raised chair of Frör’s conference table. He, Nag Kath, Tombor and two aides sat. A third aide took the box and placed it before the Elf. Nag Kath nodded at the King and opened it. It was two in three parts full of white jewels, raw and cut in a variety of sizes. Interspersed were blue Traybor stones, prized by Elves beyond all others.

The Elf looked at the mighty Lord and gasped, “You do me too much honor, King Under the Mountain. I cannot accept this.”

Frör admitted, “Some is payment. Some is for having made this foul thing to the risk of everything we hold dear. You suffered for far less when we should have honored you, a lesson to us all.”

“I will take no more than one of my hands can hold, to remind myself that is more than I will ever need.”

The King looked at one of his aides and commanded, “Bring him one of the silver boxes.” 

They must have been close because within a minute, it was presented next to the larger chest. Nag Kath reached his hand in, palm down, without trying to take as much as possible, knowing the tighter he squeezed, the more would fall from his grip. His large hand closed around the diamonds. Dangling with it was a necklace of the same stones. He dropped them in the silver box and said, “We are done, except to praise the lordship of the Dwarf realm. Thank you and all your loyal people for helping me.”

The King rose and everyone around the table did too. As Nag Kath bowed, Frör said, “Tonight we will have a grand dinner. Let us hope it is not so long before you visit us again.” With that, the Lord gave a bow of his own. Both Tombor and the Elf bowed lower and made for the entrance.

When they were out of earshot, Tombor sighed, “There were Elves who could not have done that.”

“I know very little about Elves, my friend.”

For the first time since she died, Nag Kath visited Eniece’s grave just off the Esgaroth highlands. They were of this land. It was almost all he knew for eighteen years. He had been to Phyllis’s grave several times. This day, he did not think he would ever return so it was time to truly say goodbye to the woman who believed in him. 

It was a such nice day he sat in the grass around the untended mound and told her of his life as if she was sitting next to him. Eniece would have liked Phyll. She would be proud of her grandchildren and the generations who succeeded them. None would likely visit her here, but she must have already met some beyond the circle. There would be no missing Ardatha and Reyald, the old Thain and Haldista also. Her mother and father next to her; so loving, so true.

At times he would cry, recover and forge on with his account. There was so much to say, and he had to say it all. It took until sundown before he climbed on Nemren and looked over his shoulder to see Dale vanish in twilight. 

The next stop was down the Anduin to Lorien for a last look at the mirror. As pretty as the forest was, this was still no place for tourists. The Silvan Elves made it plain that visitors were unwelcome. Had men tried to force their way? He could not imagine that going well.

As he turned on the trail to Caras Galadorn, an arrow shook in the bole of a tree. Nag Kath stopped and waited for two ohtars to ask his business. One said in Westron, “This place is for Elves. You will go back the way you came.”

He replied in Sindarin, “I am the Elf Nag Kath and seek counsel with Gilfandros.”

“You are not familiar to us.”

“It is fifty years since my last visit.”

“We will escort you. Please dismount.”

They walked along the familiar path. Elvish trails never seem to need trimming. The forest opened onto the Mallorns just as they had, with plenty of green grass for Nemren. One ohtar stayed with him while the other went up a different tree this time and returned a few minutes later saying, “Gilfandros welcomes you back. Please make yourself comfortable until he descends.”

That was about an hour but there are worse things one can do than gaze on the magnificence of an Elvish Kingdom. Folk seemed more interested than last time. Some bade him hello and wondered about the rest of the world. 

Gilfandros walked down and they sat on a knoll as Nag Kath shared tidings of the dark servant’s portal. Nag Kath asked to see the mirror again and was told to help himself. 

As before, he scrubbed the mirror with a soft cloth and silt to bring up the sheen. Then he wiped it clean and added water to about half full. This time, the mirror responded without being touched. Very slowly, the surface showed him images of the sea, of being on the sea in a ship, perhaps a fair-sized boat. It was not a coast he knew, and he now knew quite a few. The stars were different too except for the Star of Eärendil. That was a light of dusk but his vision was of bright day – a northern sky perhaps? There was no sense of foreboding. 

That changed as the scene shifted to a huge field, a battlefield, larger than any in his experience. There were no soldiers or dead but he was sure it was a field of killing. It was pretty now. Here was malice, either far past or yet to come. The edges of the image fell in on themselves and a fair face began to emerge. She might have been lovely but the mirror went clear. 

Nag Kath stepped away wondering again if he could pry the mirror loose and put it on his horse. Logass said no.

Leaving Lorien he saw men planting and tilling in the fields to the south of the forest. That night he dreamed. Images repeated of the mirror and the huntsman’s colors. Other forgotten dreams flooded his consciousness – swirling leaves. He jerked awake and stared at the dying fire. His mouth was dry so he reached for his canteen and realized he had been drinking the water he refilled at the mirror after cleaning the surface. It wasn’t from what was poured in the bowl, but that was the stream supplying the conduit beyond this world. Curious! Did the Elf-witch leave the bowl because the water held the message? Perhaps it was all elements combined. He drank the few swallows left in the bag and faded back into dream. 

Thoughts came unbidden. This was not waking rest. He could barely control it. This was the raw essence of magic – curious, fickle magic – what little was left. All his life, he had accumulated tastes of power, most invented or learned by himself. Magic, in the ages when it was feared or respected, was much more powerful. It was also of community, in the hands of great hosts both fell and fair, with aspirations beyond the lives of those remaining.

Without false humility, he was probably the strongest remaining summoner of humors. Radagast might still be here. Possibly the Wild Huntsman. But everyone else with talent was healing rashes or colic. Against even Yvsuldor of the Third Age, Nag Kath was a lesser wizard indeed.

The world was better for it. That meant without the great Elves of the past eight thousand years too. Power builds until it is offset by countervailing force, however long that takes. When he thought about that in this new-found haze, he realized that his own opposite number must still be out there, still waiting. Even if men forgot the changeling, he had purpose.

Twenty miles along the trail, Fangorn seemed closer than it had been before. It was growing both north and east. He avoided it for safety early in his life and later because it was never near where he was going. This time he thought to have a look.

Fangorn was one of the forests whose trees seemed to lean over your neck. Gimli promised Legolas he would come back with the Elf to learn its wonders and, in return, Legolas would savor the Glittering Caves. Nag Kath preferred the caves. On the other hand, these woods had stories to tell. He took the path in from the north with the idea that if it became too close, he would leave.

Nemren was alert but not nervous. There were new sounds and smells in here. Nag Kath knew the horse would react differently than him. The road continued wide with some fair streams flowing from the Misty Mountains into the Anduin plain. They tested clean but there was something else there too. They drank with no effect.

At the end of their second day they reached a large clearing with paths leading in three new directions, a meeting place? There were no stumps or deadfall. Trees simply did not grow here. It was a good place to stop so Nag Kath made a fireless camp and nibbled on Lembas while Nemren grazed on the first grass he had seen in two days. 

That night he heard noises, usual forest sounds but more intense. Nag Kath was attuned to the sounds and signals of animals. These were not those, so he drifted into waking rest after high-night. In the pale moonlight he thought the entrance to the western path seemed smaller.

He was being watched.

It was the tree just at the edge of the clearing. Dawn light did not show the lichens of the trees around it. Was this one of the Ents? It did not look like those he saw from Orthanc but they came in many versions. If it was, Elvish was better than mannish so Nag Kath brushed his hair behind his ears and approached slowly. Stopping when his own shade hit the trunk, Nag Kath said in Sindarin, “Good morning, sir. Are you one of Treebeard’s folk?”

With no response, he slowly moved closer until he was about ten feet away and stopped again to repeat his question. After a minute of nothing, Nag Kath turned to pack Nemren. He sensed danger and saw a claw-like branch swinging at him from the corner of his eye. Using the ‘fast’ he scampered twenty feet away. A man, possibly even an Elf, would have been struck with great force. The creature left the branch in the lowered position, like the curious animals in pools along the coast pretending to be plants until a fish swims too close. The foul-tempered tree could not get him but he needed to get the horse out of here. 

Ents have faces and legs. They spoke any number of languages. This must be the sort of tree that settled up with his pod brothers at Helm’s Deep. Radagast said they were uncontrolled and angry. Well, if the brute wanted to protect his forest, he was welcome to it. They rode out the path leading east to the Anduin Road.

There was one more errand, an act of completion just as he bade farewell to Dale. 

“Lord Kath, King Elfwine will see you now.”

The King was on his throne after having just meted justice out to bickering landowners in the Eastfold and walked deliberately to the more comfortable chairs of the antechamber. The man thought for a moment and said, “I was sorry not to make the wedding. I remember you coming to mine.”

The Elf followed the King to a pleasant room of the Meduseld now fitted with glass windows. It had almost the same view of the picture he drew sitting on the landing of the steps. Elfwine was now in his eighties. Even with the Dúnedain of his mother’s line, he was an old man.

The King asked, “How long has it been, Nag Kath?”

“Thirty years, or near enough, My Lord. Please accept my belated condolences on the loss of Queen Tilleth.”

“Thank you for your letter. She said you encouraged her. Is there something I can do for you?”

“More something I can do for your realm, My Lord. Many years ago, I was given a sword by a Marshal of these lands when I had none. It is a fine weapon and needs to be carried by a worthy rider of the Riddermark. I was hoping you might bestow it on someone who serves your house.”

Elfwine whispered to his aide who walked down the corridor and was back shortly with a comely man in his forties. The King said, “Lord Kath, this is Crown Prince Haleth. Perhaps he can help your sword find a home.” The King coughed a little and nodded that the interview was over. The Prince bowed to his father before leaving with the Elf through the main doors.

“Kath of the Wargs?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Your grandfather must have been telling stories.”

“One of his favorites. I saw you at Prince Eldarion’s reception and was sorry to have missed the chance to meet you.”

The sword had been left with one of the door guards along with the Elvish blade as a usual precaution. They were returned and the two knights walked over to sit on a bench along the edge of the large porch. Nag Kath started, “My Lord, this belonged to Lord Altheras ninety years ago. He gave it to me when I had no weapon to slay your grand-da’s favorite warg on our way here." The Elf admired it once more and added, “I was hoping you could give it to one of your own.” Nag Kath drew the steel and offered it to the Prince. The strong man hefted it easily and looked at the fittings and motto on the guard. 

After a while, Haleth said regally, “I know a Rohirrim who deserves favor. If you are sure it is time to part ways, I would be honored to present it to him.”

“Then I know it will be in good hands. Thank you for taking the time to see me, My Lord.”

It being so close to dinner, the Prince insisted that Nag Kath eat with his family. The Elf suspected they wanted to hear a first hand account of the warg-slaying. He would oblige.


	14. Generations

**_Chapter 14_ **

**_Generations_ **

Mestriel tried to beat her employer to the door hoping if he heard her, he would stay on the couch. He rose anyway because that could only be Nag Kath’s knock. Shurran arrived ten feet behind her in time to hear, “I’m looking for a big Northman. Looks like I got the right place.” 

Cook and Penni were shopping. Shur gave him a Northman grab and they wandered back to the couch with tea to follow. Shur’s breathing would need attention again. He hadn’t been drinking his tea. Nobody drank the tea if they could pour it in a plant. The man’s physician would attend to that presently. Shur leaned forward and asked, “Is it done?”

“Aye, Shurran, melted like butter. So hot they had to run it to the cauldron on a wire. Never seen anything like it. Hope that puts paid to the dark lord. How are Penni and the children?”

“Good, you’ll see her shortly. Are you back for a while?”

He was. The east could wait. Without being too much in the way, Nag Kath wanted to be here for Shur who wouldn’t last too many more years. Eniecia was still very fit and seemed to have inherited the rare Dúnedain strain.

“I think so, maybe back to Dol Amroth to see your sis. Any news on Talienne?”

“Not that anyone tells me. Raniece is getting hitched next summer. She is a fair lass too. That whole family is. They didn’t get it from me.” Shur was excited and coughed a bit with his laugh. “Now, what of Dale?”

“The same. It seems the Brenen family took over the business and declared me dead, kept the rest of the property. I liked that house. Bard’s side did me right.”

Shur contemplated, “I’d have thought the other way round.”

“I’m too long gone. Someone conveniently lost my occasional letters. There was money in the bank, though. 

Shur grinned, “So you are the statue in the family square?”

“More like the king on the nipper, but I found my things. Bethen, you remember Bethen, had them in her basement. She is a dear. Her nephew organized a nice party. I left the sword with the Prince in Rohan, got my pictures and Eniece’s mementos, some earrings by your friend Gurralth. I'd like Penni to have those.

The grandson had a long pull of tea and shook his head, “I hope the Dwarves treated you well.”

“Embarrassingly so. I’ll show you when we have dinner in a day or two.”

Penni arrived just then. Cook took a large basket back to the kitchen after what could charitably be called a curtsy to the living family founder and Penni gave him a kiss on the cheek. She sat down and said, “I think a storm is coming. Hope his Lordship can fire his sparklers.”

Had it been so long that Nag Kath didn’t even remember Syndolan Day? 

Penni asked, “Can you stay to dinner Nag? It won’t be any bother getting fish. There were some tollars at the market just now.”

“No, love. I have some things to attend. After that I am all yours.”

She did some counting in her head, “Well, let me think, tomorrow, no, two days time is grand. How is that for you?”

“That’s fine Pen. You take care of my little grandson and I’ll see you then.”

He walked home. It was cold. No one was cooking. When he got there, he kept walking to the Lord of the Pelennor for a meal and took a room upstairs. Shur’s cough bothered him. His color was wan. Penni put a brave face on things but she felt it too. Nag Kath thought it curious, unfair and wholly human that in mixing the strains of men, one didn’t always average the results. One might think that if a man’s father lived to sixty and his mother to eighty, their children would live seventy. That happened more often than not, but sometimes, especially with Dúnedain blood, one child might live to be ninety and another fifty. Northmen and the men of Rhûn didn’t live very long even if fighting didn’t kill them first. They had to get things done by then.

Now, what to do with all of those diamonds? It was a fabulous sum of wealth except they couldn’t be used to buy things. It did not matter. He did not want Smaug gold. The sickness was only said to affect Dwarves, who were otherwise immune to most magic. Someone would buy them over time and he could finance a few projects in the east, maybe build bridges in places not grand enough for the lords of the west.

The necklace was curious. That was Elvish. What was it doing with a box of Dwarf loot? Nag Kath wondered if King Thranduil patted his pockets after an evening of harp music and came up wanting. He still had the mithril circlet downstairs grouted under the stove along with fifty Florin ... the old troll Florin, not the new Aragorn Florin. The Elf only ever spent ancient money. Before it got dark and stormy, he had a lad at the inn run a message written in Sindarin up to the seventh. They would want to hear about Erebor too. 

Nag Kath heard nothing from the palace the next day. The King and likely Eldarion would be here for Syndolan Eve, two days hence. If something was wrong, the Elf would have written so. 

_____________--------_____________

“I was glad I went, My Lords and Lady. The arrangement was that they would destroy the artifact but keep the mithril. I was given jewels in exchange. They will be hard to realize, but I did not want the gold that caused so much upset.”

Queen Arwen looked her husband and son before asking rather more quickly than usual, “What manner of jewels, brave knight?”

“Mostly white, but with a few of the blue Traybor stones. About half of them were cut and polished and the rest raw.”

She persisted, “How were they presented, sir?”

“I was offered a large box of Dwarvish craft but said I would only take as many as I could hold in one hand. It was still quite a few. I brought some.”

Nag Kath took several of the stones from his vest pocket and placed them before the Queen. She took one of the smaller ones and examined it very carefully. Eldarion inspected the Traybor stone and handed it to his mother. She looked at that closely too. The Elf waited patiently with the King.

Finally, the Evenstar brought her hands into her lap and was silent for a short while before asking, “Did the Dwarves say where these were found?”

“They did not say and I did not ask, looking a gift horse in the teeth. My Lady, you seem much taken. Please, keep them. I am sure a fine jeweler can craft something so the blue stone matches your eyes.”

She smiled at him, perhaps for the first time, and said, “Usually my husband forbids accepting precious gifts. I will implore him to make an exception. Thank you for your generosity.”

The knight then said, “In that case …” he took a jewel he hadn’t reached from the same pocket and gave it to Prince Eldarion saying, “Something for your Lady Wife, My Lord.” Looking to King Elessar, “I am sorry Sire. You will have to make due.”

His liege smiled as well, “I get full value at all times, sir.” The graying King only wore his Ring of Barahir and occasionally the name-sake Elessar Elfstone broach for special occasions.

Nag Kath ventured a suggestion, “I respectfully offer this may be a good time to bring the west closer to the Dwarves. I am not a merchant to know the values of this versus that, but their offer was gracious. Perhaps they are slowly moving past the grasping of Stonehelm.”

Eldarion asked, “Did you broach this with King Barandor?”

“I did not sir. We met when I found a picture of his great grandmother in my things, but that was before Erebor. I thought to keep that business quiet.”

Aragorn said, “This gives us much to consider. What are your plans, Nag Kath?”

“Unless I am not as quick as I think, two of my great, great grand-children marry in Dol Amroth this summer. I will go between here and there for a time. One fine day I will go east again.”

To close the interview, Eldarion cheered, “Then I am sure we will see you often.”

The following day, Nag Kath took his draft from the Royal Bank of Dale to the Royal Bank of Gondor to close affairs in the north. There was a melancholy finality to that. Then he walked up to the fifth for a talk with Mr. Herristar of Demanth and Herristar Jewelers. They had met several times crafting the troll diamonds for Phylliss. After introductions and tea, he took two of the smaller, quarter-inch finished diamonds from his pocket and placed them before the Master saying, “My niece will marry next year and I thought these would make nice earrings”

The man pulled a very fine and powerful fire-glass from under the counter and examined both stones. Placing them on a soft cloth, he refitted his own spectacles and said, “These are exceptional, and expertly finished, old Dwarvish, I should think. They could be fitted to one of our designs or your own.”

“I have no notion of what she would like so something like the pair you have on display would suit.” He wasn’t here for jewelry.

“The gold pair is half a Florin using your diamonds, Mr. Kath. Do you mind my asking how you came by these?”

Nag Kath said, “In settlement of a debt. I fear I could not place a value on them.”

Herristar was gut-hooked, “I should think about three Florin each. I don’t suppose you have any more of these? Our clientele insists on the best. We usually receive stones from the mine and prepare them ourselves.”

“So there is high demand for these?”

“I would say consistent rather than high. Only so many people can afford this quality.”

This was the man he wanted. Nag Kath pulled a large, uncut stone from a different pocket and placed it on the pad. The jeweler looked his client over very closely before doing the same to the gem with the fire-glass. For fully two minutes the man examined the diamond, looking for flaws or fractures as much as the rough surface allowed.

He put the glass and gem back on his pad and asked softly, “Have you shown these to other jewelers, Mr. Kath?”

“No, I was hoping for an exclusive arrangement, perhaps in Dol Amroth as well ... slow, steady and discreet.”

Herristar slipped his spectacles into his apron, “I think we can help.”

_____________--------_____________

Three Florin for the little ones! He had something under four hundred stones, many the size of his thumbnail. Herristar was right; they could not be liquidated in a hurry. That was fine. He was in less of a hurry than anyone in Middle-earth. Now, what about the Queen? It was almost as if she recognized these. Might they be one of the frictions between Elves and Dwarves, that Frör thought this atoned for past difficulty? If they thought him a representative of Elf-kind, perhaps that past was finally fading too. 

And what about that necklace? It had massive stones in mithril mounts. The price would be unimaginable. That wasn’t just a bauble for a beloved. That was a symbol of state, perhaps an Elvish commission that got sticky at settlement.

The day cleared with few mud puddles on the high road so he saddled Nemren and made the delayed trip to Osgiliath. Tumlath had taken over when Tumlen died and now grandson Tumfred was keeping the Gespath family business humming. A plump, friendly lass sat at the office desk. She looked up and beamed, “Well hello, Nag Kath. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?! You just missed Fred but he shouldn’t be long. I’ve got a pot of Telandren just now steeped.”

“You are a love, Unieve. That would taste fine.”

She got them both mugs and asked, “Are you staying at the Great River?”

“I will. Let me take rooms and settle the horse after this splendid tea. Just tell Fred I’ll be right back, nothing urgent, mind.”

“Very good, sir.”

Fred fit the mold of the Gespath men, short and widening. Except for being too tall, they would make excellent Hobbits with their curly hair and blue eyes. Business was good. Tastes were running to the west side of the river these days and they were adapting, though the council of Alders dithered like scholars. Ithilien was more practical. Few here remembered days before the water so it was taken for granted. Seventy years or a thousand was all the same to young folk making their way in the world.

“Good to see you, Nag. One of these days I have to visit Dol Amroth.”

“You should, Fred. Spend time in Pelargir too. It is much like here. You might get a few ideas.”

Nag Kath talked about the wedding and Harad and Dale. Fred gave him all the local gossip. On the west side they now want men to get new buildings approved if they were in the old city, so they don’t look too new, mind! That was the work Shur used to do before he retired. Halfers!

The Elf explained the Dale family had him declared dead and divided up the estate. Fred was appalled. Nag Kath’s interests here were all in his right-living trust for some reason and they could stay that way. Excluding the diamonds, this was his largest repository of wealth.

Over a Hobbit-sized lunch Fred explained on a more difficult note that father Tumlath was having trouble with his memory. He still came in and looked busy but they kept decisions off his desk. The Elf wished them all well. Before returning to his room, he stopped by a few exclusive jewelry stores and visited the healing district for fresher herbs than Minas Tirith had, since they got them here. None of the women seemed very skinny. And Shur was doing to drink his bloody tea this time!

The evening was quiet. Snowflakes were falling but not sticking. Nag Kath stayed in and watched them land. He wrote letters to Prince Elboron and Barahir saying he was back. Messengers ran between the capital and largest city daily, weather permitting. A bit like Rohan now; the ruler’s country home was apart from the commercial center. That started when city water was unreliable and never changed.

Tonight was dinner at Shurran and Penni’s so the Elf was off with good light and home in a few hours. Fresh supplies of herbs were guaranteed to sour the face of even hardened soldiers. Penni smiled demurely knowing they would be more carefully guarded this time. 

“I mean it, Shur. The healing only goes so far.”

“Every day?”

“Twice, every day.”

The big Northman knew he was in a cleft stick. Penni changed the subject only slightly, “Nag, to ensure my husband adheres to his regimen, we would like you to stay with us rather than all alone in your drafty old house. Please say yes.”

Shurran grinned, if only to get out of discussing his medicine.

Folk usually bring in older relatives needing care or younger relatives who can provide it. Nag Kath was neither, but it seemed a good idea. He no longer had a cadre of females trying to make matches, unless their grandchildren took up the cause. Cook and housekeeper were both known and better humored than some he recalled. The Elf thought he would be here quite a bit anyway so; why not? “That would be lovely. Thank you for asking. Oh, before I forget, these were made by Shurran's cousin Gurralth. They belonged to my first wife.” Penni had a necklace that was a near match for these earrings and she beamed in thanks.

There wasn’t much to move. Most things stayed where they were. Nag Kath commandeered two bedrooms on the upper floor since Shurran no longer climbed stairs. A wet but not very cold winter kept them inside quite a bit. The Elf spent time in the archives, avoiding halfers, and generally learning what he could about Melkor. He was thought long gone, even in the oldest writings of Gondor as it formed from the Numenorean migration. All well and good for the archives, but there was something behind that oval. Slamming the window on his fingers didn't get rid of him.

Shur and Penni’s son Reyalder handled property on this side of the Pelennor. That wasn’t much work. He had a full-time man and the man’s part-time daughter dealing with renters. All of the repair work was contracted with people they knew for years. They also sent rents to Eniecia from her parents’ estates – all from that troll horde!

_____________--------_____________

Just to get out of the house, Nag Kath would wander down to the office on days he knew his great grandson would likely be there. The talked about all manner of thing, including the lengths his father would go to avoid his medicine. Reyaldar’s wife Heuris came from solid mercantile stock and watched their 12-year old son Fieldar and nine-year old daughter Delandreth. Fieldar took archery seriously. All agreed that was a worthy thing for a multiple-great grandson of the hero who slew the dragon. Uncle Nag bought him a real bow five years before and he was ready for another.

Shur’s two daughters were also married, one more successfully than the other. Bettes met Simlieo Panzier, a nice man about ten years older who made man-cart wheels and married for love. They were still in love after ten years with eight-year old daughter Lorandris who liked to hide her face with her hands then look through her fingers. Son Urandict was three.

Shur's younger daughter was Féuril. Her husband thought he was marrying into instant wealth and found otherwise. Féuril was not pretty or clever and after seven years of her man, seldom cheerful. The couple had no children. They would make amends just often enough that Shurran didn’t thrash him, but the big Northman still seethed because the fellow skirted militia training. Uncle Nag recommended bribery. Féuril wasn’t having that. Shur might do it anyway. 

Nag Kath often saw children of old friends in the Tallazh family and occasionally Tal and Eccs’s grand-daughter. Like her mother, she drew pictures for children’s books and also wrote the stories, earning a fair living doing what she wanted. He stayed in touch with any number of friends.

_____________--------_____________

An early spring had Nag Kath out with his sketch pad capturing the sights of the White City. Often times he went back to original ideas like every-day folk at the fountain or merchants hawking wares in the yarn market. One gallery wanted to know if he wanted to show on their walls. He was about to say no but changed his mind and asked that his share be given to the White City Charity.

In April they got word that not only was Raniece to marry her sweetheart, Menalgir would wed his girl as well in a double-ceremony set for August. A trip to Dol Amroth was in order. Shur could not go. His traveling days were over. It bothered the big Northman. He would sit on the porch in his stocking feet sipping tea and watch the city below. Uncle Nag was often with him discussing important matters of the day. 

With little to keep him here, Nag Kath thought for this journey he would ride cross-country and see the sights on the windward of the White Mountains. It was sparsely populated with occasional farms and towns along the finger rivers streaming into the Bay. The route was probably on the order of a hundred leagues, some with roads, some with paths. The idea was to keep to the foothills below cliffs that etched into the valley. When he reached the Ringlo there was a town worthy of a name and a good road was said to make for the river mouth north of the White Harbor. It should take three weeks. He allowed two months.

With his art supplies, Lembas, rain slicker and weapons, Nag Kath walked Nemren out the gate towards Lossarnach. The King’s farm road was only a league from the Rammas Gate and made another ten miles northwest to the foothills. The main road continued towards Pelargir in close to a straight line. Where it crossed the Erui River was the fair-sized market-town of Minas Anchon. If you had goods from downstream and did not want to freight them on the river, this was your road and this was your town. It had one of the first bridges the King commissioned after taking lordship. 

The smooth road kept going south. Nag Kath turned west and took the path towards the Celos River. Wagons had been known to try this trail but it was not for the faint of heart. It was fine for a horse and they made good time. There were occasional farms and farmers glad of a couple coppers to let them stay under a shed out of the rain. On the third day after the turn they found another village where the Celos met the Randuin becoming the Sirith of drinking-water fame. It had a King’s bridge too, though somewhat the worse for tree trunks hitting the base as they sped downstream in heavy spring flows. This side of the mountains got more snow and in June, it was still melting.

Two days later they made another Market town on the near side of the Serni headwaters. It was the confluence of four fair streams and much easier to cross separately than joined. Just across was a wood of good ship timbers that made their way down to Lebennin for sea transport to builders on the Anduin. 

_____________--------_____________

Minas Brachal was having their summer festival, and Nag Kath loved those. The town wasn’t as large as Trum Dreng but had some of the same atmosphere by celebrating flowers and the highest sun of the year, the opposite of Syndolan. Lebennin ale was fair and a few inns had room. And as in Trum Dreng, evening was when the young people made acquaintance.

He was almost alone to start dinner but about the time he finished, quite a few folk in their teens, twenties and maybe a little older trooped in to familiar tables. Pitchers were already poured and served on arrival. He had a large table and was asked by a man with two ladies if they could take the far end. 

They were expecting more people who hadn’t arrived. All three watched the tall blonde man in travel clothes sketching on a small pad. He explained he was taking the scenic route to Belfalas where he had family. None of them had ever been to Belfalas, though Thomfore had been down the river to Linhir which was a sizeable town, city to them. That was where the Serni and Gilrain formed that delta, and oh my, wasn’t that a sight to see!

Nag Kath held his chin and wondered, “I thought of going that way but am I right that by staying just north of the harbor I avoid that ridge of mountains by the bay?”

The man’s girl, who seemed to think herself the celebrated beauty of Minas Brachal, declared with hauteur, “So it is said.”

The fellow was more helpful, “There is a small river feeding from the west with a fair trail alongside. That gets you through the eastern ridge. There are others through the western range and are said well-marked.”

The celebrated beauty put away two mugs in quick succession, which only made her more talkative on subjects she didn’t know. Her man wasn’t keeping up with the ale. The slightly older woman was not through her first mug and kept her own counsel.

Their friends still hadn’t come. If they had stopped at another tavern, these three weren’t in a hurry to find them. Another pitcher arrived. Nag Kath put down the coins for it. The quiet woman was nearest to him and looked at his pad. It was just a doodle of the street with a vendor selling pies in a heat-cart like the dear man in Tharbad. She asked if she could see. The Elf started to slide it to her when she slid closer to him. 

Evidently there were no artists in Brachal and she shifted her gaze out the door and back to the sheet several times wondering how someone could catch the image with so few strokes. Meanwhile the celebrated beauty kept punishing the pale until she began to feel unappreciated. She gave her man a ration that had people around the tavern looking. He was trying to keep the damage under control, perhaps hoping for a taste of that beauty later, but he would have to tie her in a sack for a few hours first. Finally, she rose in a huff and sashayed out the door with him in her wake.

The quiet woman watched but did not leave. Then she looked at the meat vendor again. While she studied, the Elf felt a gentle hand sliding across his thigh. Leniegh was not a celebrated beauty but attractive and at the age Nag Kath liked them. He put extra coppers on the table in case the volatile couple hadn’t paid for their first round and climbed the stairs to his room.

It had been a very long time, for him at any rate. She took the initiative, which he liked, and in exchange was pleased with what she discovered. In only a one-width bed, they were snuggled close. Leniegh cooed, “Are you gone tomorrow?”

“Or the next day. What is the occasion?”

“The Celebration of Arien who is longest in the sky this day. We look forward to harvest and cast our cares away.”

He said, “There is one much like it in Minas Tirith a month from now. I remember enjoying that. What happened to your friends?”

“He is my employer’s son. Only met her twice. I hope he keeps it that way.”

“Ale does not serve all equally or well.”

Leniegh was curious, “Now, what about you? You have nice cloth but you travel the hard road.”

“I have never been here. It gives me something to draw. I must say; the trip has started promising.”

“You probably say that to all who admire your drawings.”

He grinned, “Every one.”

Neither were hungry so they did more of the same well into the night. Later, she curled next to him in bed. He leaned against the wall since there was no chair in the room and let pleasant thoughts drift into waking rest. At dawn she looked up at him with his eyes seemingly closed and quietly dressed. In the poor light Leniegh wandered towards his bags then turned and groped for the door. Opening it without a sound, she was gone.

An hour later Nag Kath had porridge and the first of the raspberries on this side of the mountain. When he stood to carry his bags out, the innkeeper said, “Sir, there is a small matter of the bill.”

The Elf paid cash when he got here. “Eh?”

The fellow chuckled, “You didn’t think Leniegh’s special affections came with the room did you?”

Ah, yes. She arrived at the same time as the quarrelsome couple but not with them. She never once spoke to them. It was only after they left that he got her attention. And then there was the first-light exit. She wandered towards his bag thinking him asleep but turned and left unsteadily. In inns he always kept a strong confusion ward on his satchel. If she had lifted it, the innkeeper would have taken his share and claimed he had no idea who the trollop was. This squeeze was to salvage something from the failed theft.

Nag Kath walked over to the counter and said, “What’s the damage?”

“Three groats.”

He laid a fiver on the plank and went outside to saddle Nemren. That was not his preferred way of loving, but learning after the event made it at least tolerable. She seemed pleasured. If she was acting, she was good.

_____________--------_____________

From here it was a three day ride to Bar Gilraen on the river of the same name. There were peaks ending on either side of what turned out to be a road through the foothills. From a distance it seemed there would be climbing. Though not the size of Brethil; this town probably had a thousand people who were not celebrating at all. He ate alone and was glad of it.

The next few days were up a grade. They crossed another tributary leading into the Gilrain from the east and made southwest along the river for three more days passing a sizeable lake with a forest on the far bank. When the lake narrowed with rock banks, Nag Kath and Nemren took a ferry across fully a mile of lake, landing just above the Nan Requain River. The horse did not care for water travel of any sort. 

Another day’s ride took them to a very pretty smaller lake between more intimidating mountains and the day past that they passed into Belfalas county of Rosuldrië. This was where the famous pale wine was grown. It was almost Shire-like between these mountains and the range further west. Rolling hills with good streams from either side often grew two crops a year. The trail snaked around the peaks where there were low passes but not in a straight line so it was another week before tired horse and Elf trotted across the causeway to fair Dol Amroth.

Captain Ivandred opened the door. “Well, couldn’t keep you away! They shook hands and the Elf hauled his bags inside. Legorn turned and called to anyone who cared, “Nag’s home.”

It was nearly the dinner hour so after sponging off the grime, he joined them at table. Eniecia was excited, two of her four grandchildren marrying suitably. Their parents seemed to be taking it more in stride. That was still better than a month away but there were so many things to do!

Cal reminded his elegant wife gently, “My darling, you don’t have to do anything except get there and not faint.”

“Oh, I know, but a woman needs a hobby. Nag, we have tickets to ‘If It Can, It Will’ to open the season next week.” To insure his cooperation she added, “It is a comedy.”

“I will count the days, dearest grand-daughter.”

Eniecia pulled varying points of interest in her logical way until getting to, “I am not sure who will be joining us. We just have the six seats but the children are so busy.”

Cal neatly avoided the trap by quickly adding, “I don’t recall, my dear.”

Old Legorn declared, “Well, I am coming! That’s one of the few where the low voice isn’t a swindler.”

Did Nag Kath really want a date? The pleasant commercial encounter in Brachal reminded him of the advantages of mortal men. His waking rest wasn’t so restful. He would consider that when he needed to. The family was more interested in Dale. That was bittersweet. There may be reasons to return someday but not to visit anyone living there. He told them he got several thousand Florin worth of diamonds in exchange for the Mithril. The jeweler in Minas Tirith sold two a month so that was not going to winnow his stake any time soon. 

Eniecia was speechless. She believed him but she had also never seen him do anything magical, ever. In plain view on his voyage he roasted a ship with sorcerous fire but never with family. On her breath she whispered, “Several thousand …”

“Aye, probably a lot more if the big ones are much more than the little ones.”

He dipped into a pocket and said, “These are called Traybor stones, prized among Elves. Since they are gone, this is for you.” He handed it to his grand-daughter who seemed to reflect the sparkle in her eyes. “I had earrings made for Raniece and Menalgir’s intended. What’s her name?”

Cal said, “Dehlpynhalita.” When no one rescued him he added, “Halita, a grandmother.”

Nag Kath waded in, “Now, with all this matrimony in the air, has anyone heard from Lord Barahir?”

His grand-daughter observed caustically, “No Simbelmynë growing on you, Orc Six.”

The Elf finished chewing and was about to ask again when the old Captain said, “We understanding they are exchanging letters about Elf lore.” When no one did better than that, the topic died. 

After dinner, they were sitting in the main room. Eniecia asked gently, “You do not seem yourself, dear grandfather.”

“I am thinking about your brother. He will not take his medicine and his wind is poor. I will be between here and there but do not intend to be long from him, probably in Minas Tirith for some years. He seems at ease yet I am not. That is selfish of me. Dale got me to thinking. It is hard to be forgotten in your life.”

Legorn comforted, “You always have me.”

No one could keep a straight face after that.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath didn’t really understand just how important these two weddings were. Although not princely, they were only a level or two below in several ways. All were prominent families. They had a lot of friends. There were ranking Marines invited. Nag Kath even counted for something with his extraordinary recent exploits. 

Nag Kath took his leisure by strolling the jewelry district. This was more like Dale where the items were made in mostly one area, even if sold in shops all over. No one was in a position to purchase more than one or two of the small stones. If he was to reduce the pile, he had to trade them for either land or gold with a very high lord.

Wednesday was dinner at the Field Ivandreds. Both girls were there but not Raniece’s intended who was on duty until the week before their nuptials. Field and Grenda were generally at ease which helped their daughters’ high emotions. Raniece mostly talked about her friends helping her sew her dress and how wonderful everyone was. They would take an apartment near the War Harbor for now but a grandfather on his side was going to help with a home at some point. The Elf expected the Ivandred seniors would pass the hat too.

Talienne spoke mostly about her studies. Usually that would get rid of all but the most curious but this was of moment to young hearts. After the meal, the Elf saw room to mildly influence. He thought he remembered most of the epic poem of Luthien and Beren as told by Norgarn’s son in the Grey Havens. Keepers don’t read, they recite. Phrasing, timing and changing pitch or volume were as much a part of the saga as the words. 

When there was a lull in the conversation, he spoke as a Lorist in the Ghurates. The condensed version still took a half-bell but it came pure, even in the common-tongue, as if distilled by the drop from memories of two ages past. The house was still. Cook was frozen in the doorway. 

Finally Grenda broke the stillness, “We have not heard that story told in such a way Nag Kath.”

This end of the family had really only seen good old Uncle Nag in social settings, not causing wars, being asked the same silly questions. Tonight he shared another aspect. In his Elf Lord voice he said, “I have heard the Elf-keepers sing that story twice, once after Eniece died and again seventy years later when Phylless died. In some ways; that is my song to endure. The keepers protect it all, the words, the emotion, the pain … they hold it for those who may yet hear it again before the ending of the world.

“They also keep it for a people who cannot bear the heartache alone for so many long years. It gives them courage. It tells them that their choices are pure. It brings them. The tale is all that and more.”

He turned to Talienne, “You will find those as you open yourself. Feel the music. Sing your care and strength and love.”

Nag Kath didn’t dare smile or suggest that her next letter upriver be more than the dusty bones of bygone kings. On the way back to Cal and Eniecia’s he was sure he had done the right thing. Barahir, or any other lucky lad, needed to deserve all the passion of her tender heart.

_____________--------_____________

Whoever wrote ‘If It Can, It Will’ must have written a dozen just like it. Seasons usually start with a comedy that is not too long and easy to follow. Having a popular song buried somewhere never hurts. This time they had Callistra’s son Menalgir Libron with his fiancé Halita and her mother.

Most people wanted to meet the celebrated Nag Kath but not all, among them; Mrs. Erberion. He was his usual, quiet self but it cut no ice with the taciturn doyen; former chair of the Seaman’s Benefit Society. Her husband did not care for theater – perhaps theater with his wife – so they found an extra ticket for Legorn and the company was set. 

If the opera was trying, the Lion’s Beard was torment. It was a place where men and women gathered drinking alcohol after leering at a ribald tale of common townsfolk barely able to control their bestial lusts! And if the polite young man who brought black foreign devils to their blessed home was not bad enough, there was that grinning old reprobate recalling more of the odious performances. It was too much to be borne!

She was mercifully taken home after the first pitcher of wine was down the gullet and the Ivandreds were in silent accord that their grandson’s apartment could not be far enough from his mother-in-law. The girl was quite lovely and seemed to have learned long ago to ignore her. 

Nag Kath amused himself while the families prepared. Dol Amroth weddings are already lengthy affairs. Two of them at once would cut the time overall but made for a long afternoon. 

He visited the Ambassador of Thân zîrân after they replied to his note. Taj-Velindir took a spacious home in the Castle District and added staff for both domestic needs and embassy duties. For the most part, they were rich lads on holiday. Nag Kath had guessed before they docked that their primary job was to learn about the politics and trade of these northern nations and convince lords to send goods south, hopefully sailing back with one of them. Their home ships were built for light chop in the gulf but not the huge rollers coming in from the northern sea. Much of their study was in wrighting ocean vessels after that craft was lost in the ages. Cal did not know if any northern nations thought to send reciprocal emissaries immediately, but it was coming.

Nag Kath did get some unexpected employment. A leak in the storage shed ruined the backdrops for the tragedy “Let It Not Happen Here’. Like the Flower Society in Dale, one person knew another and he was asked to paint new linen frames the day before the presentation. The watercolor originals were soaked beyond recognition so the director told him what he needed and the Elf did his best. 

As one of the crew, he sat backstage watching folk fuss with costumes and face-paint. Reviews for both the Catanard and his scenery were mixed, but those who liked the backdrops had a frenzied bidding war after the show, bringing just under four silvers for the Prince’s Charity.

_____________--------_____________

The wedding finally arrived. Rain threatened but did not materialize. As an Elf, Nag Kath could stand still a long time but many in the congregation were shifting from one leg to the other trying to keep the blood flowing in their feet. Only the families in front sat.

It was done. All repaired to the Hall of Mariners, the biggest place in Dol Amroth not occupied by the Prince. Nag Kath presented the earrings to both brides and had already sketched portraits from memory, needing only Halita’s image to complete the four.

Weddings encourage romance. Talienne had a flock of young men hoping for a word. She was as polite as possible in deflecting their undying love and took refuge standing by the forbidding Uncle Nag. He mused, “I think your sister and cousin made fine matches. You can see it in their eyes.”

“I think so too. Halita will also be mistress of her own home.”

“So I gathered.”

“Grandmother said you gave jewels to her mother at her wedding.”

The Elf stroked his chin, “Yes, like stones but much different sources. She gave them to her sister-in-law. I gave your great, great grandmother a blood red stone that I think Eniecia has now. She had very dark red hair. Women of the Thainholds, seldom wear jewelry out of modesty.”

Talienne grinned, “Not here.”

“I noticed. In the hard places of the world, you show your strength first. In the refined places, you show your position ... same thing in the end.”

A couple saw Talienne and walked over to say hello before realizing she was talking with her notorious uncle. It was Earmina and her new husband. Nag Kath bowed and said, “Hello Mina. Stunning as always.”

“Hello, Nag Kath. May I present my husband, Boromath?”

They shook hands. It was not awkward. All agreed the brides were lovely, the ceremony was long and the wine was good. After a decent interval, the newlyweds excused themselves leaving Nag Kath and Talienne where they were. She asked, “Do you wish you had made that match, dearest uncle?”

He raised his eyebrow. That was a more womanly comment than he had heard leave her maidenly lips thus far. He watched them walk away and answered, “In a way, but I will be unsettled for a time. If you want the best for someone, sometimes you must let them fly.”

She said more philosophically, “That is not how the heroes of your story saw things.”

Nag Kath looked back at her and smiled, “Quite true. But they resolved they were the only possible mates for each other against dangers that make these Catanards look like a flower society.”

Talienne answered, “You were still the making of her reemergence. The way she looked on your arm brought acclaim she would not have gotten as a failed-man’s widow. What now?”

“You know, I was wrong about you. All the time I keep thinking of you like Eniecia, but inside you have the steel of Ardatha, daughter of the King. Kings and Thains run deep in your blood.”

She said regally, “Thank you. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I will be in the west for a while but then probably back to Khand. When I am done with that, maybe I will love again.”

She murmured, “Yes, true love is worth waiting for.”


	15. Sealing the Deal

**_Chapter 15_ **

**_Sealing the Deal_ **

He stayed the summer without falling in love. That gave him time to meet his scholars several times and regale them again with adventures in the land beyond the horizon now that he could finally mention the mithril band. The scholars bent the ears of the Ambassadors any chance they got in exchange for news of the last two thousand years. Daughters of Dol Amroth thought the Numenoreans, as they could not escape being called, quite dashing. Nag Kath wondered if they would ever see home.

It wasn’t until he was ready to leave in October that the Swan Breeze pulled into the commercial harbor with a load of chandlery parts and steel, things Belfalas could not make. Nag Kath hurried to the port to find that Penandoth had sold the ship to Master Yeurgelli barely two months after they returned from Thân zîrân. He met an experienced woman of the Enta Sirith in Pelargir who was glad of his company year-round and decided his days on the blue were over. Nag Kath resolved to seek him and Athmandal on his way home, poor tidings for Nemren. He left his love and would miss them all. He would also write often to let Eniecia know her brother’s condition. Shur was a good correspondent but not forthcoming. Penni never wrote.

The day after they sailed, Nag Kath realized he left Orlo’s coin in his room at Cal and Eniecia’s. Of no moment, he would be back. 

Nemren enjoyed easy rollers better than breakers but was never quite at ease. With a prevailing breeze behind them, they made the Pelargir New Port dock two days early. Nag Kath took his same room and strolled the city. He visited Helien and Phylless, in cemeteries on either side of the delta. He also asked about Captain Penandoth near the troll head. Barnacles and mussels were starting to grow over the features but it was still called Troll Point. 

Penandoth and his little Marthie had a rather nice house for the district a couple rows up from the waterline. The Elf knocked and a mostly Khandian woman opened the door so he asked in that language if the Captain was taking callers.

She replied in the most ordinary of Westron, “You must be Nag Kath! Come in, follow me.” In a stronger voice, “Ronalt, you have a guest.”

It was early. He wandered out of the kitchen with the same sort of shirt and yawn Nag Kath had seen hundreds of times. His eyes focused and the man came over for a hearty handshake saying, “Bless me. I hope you aren’t here to go round the world again!”

“Wrong direction. Good to see you Ronalt.”

“Good to be seen! You must have heard I retired. Nag, this is Marthie. Marthie, Nag Kath. Lord Kath, I suppose.”

They sat and talked for a long time. Marthie was not excluded at all and stayed after bringing tea. He got an offer too good to pass for the ship after word was out it could handle strong seas at its small size. Someday he might get into some sort of business but he was in no hurry. He would be in even less hurry when Nag Kath handed him a large diamond as the last payment of their voyage. Like the Elf, he could probably keep it, but you never know. When Nag Kath first gave the Capt’n his pitch, it included that he could retire in style. He did.

Before leaving, Nag Kath asked of Athmandal. “He is around here too, but most of the time he stays near his parents on the Telengaur mouth. Got himself a heavy lighter to bring fruit from Ithilien upriver. No girl yet, least, not that he’s said. If they don’t know where he is at the Good Luck Tavern, he’s somewhere in-between.”

Dal had just left Pelargir so Nag Kath hired a flat-hauler to take him across to the same river he cleansed before most here were born. The young man was not hard to find. It would not do until he was introduced to a large group of folk and family with a fine dinner to follow. His share of the voyage made Dal a big man in this little place. He shared the bounty without lording it over the citizens. 

The Elf stayed two days until enough fruit was purchased from upriver to make the trip and then returned to Pelargir with the crew. Nag Kath knew something of the currents in this stretch of water. They hadn’t changed. Dal heard about that several times and said a prayer every time he sailed that direction. They had a fine dinner in port too. When they parted, Dal discovered a diamond in his hand, something for the woman he would find someday.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath decided to take the road back to the City of the King. He had seen the first third of it coming and would add the lower part to the map he kept with different colored lines for various trips. 

As with the north, the road was in excellent condition and sporting a fair number of wagons. Towns and farms were growing along the way so if you sold things between the big cities, this was cheaper than sailing or rowing upstream. The trip was about forty leagues on a nearly straight road. Nag Kath stayed at inns conveniently spaced for riders for the first two nights and reached Minas Anchon the afternoon of the third. Nemren was favoring his left rear leg so his master applied some healing and balm with the idea of giving the horse another day to rest. This was a pleasant little town. No women invited themselves to watch him draw.

After their day of leisure, Nag Kath headed towards the capital. Reaching the fork to the King’s stud he turned up that way ten paces to inspect Nemren’s hoof away from an oncoming wagon. The horse seemed fine so he took one of Dal’s apples from the bag and was about to remount when a half-troop trotted his way from the north and asked his business.

“He’s been favoring that leg since Pelargir so I look to see if he has taken sufficient rest. How are you today, Corporal?”

“Well enough, sir. We just wanted to see if you were van to the company coming.”

“No, I make for the White City after a visit to Dol Amroth. It seems your guests approach now.”

A half-company of riders under the Steward’s pennant pulled up as the Captain’s van raised his fist. The local half-troop was at starched attention in their saddles when a voice from the newcomers cried, “Lord Kath! You came all this way to see us!”

He led Nemren over a few feet to look before saying, “Nay Lord Elboron! I hoped to sell a little fruit from Pelargir along the roadside.”

The Prince, Steward of Gondor, rode through his halted escort and smiled, “Bless me. You meet the most curious people. Are you coming to the King’s celebration? Last one of the year, I expect.”

“A surprise, sir. I am just back from Belfalas. Two of the youngsters in my brood were married in one fell-swoop.”

The Lord said more gravely, “Belfalas, eh?” He considered for a moment. “That is a Lossarnach nag or I’m a fool. Climb on and let us see if he remembers the way.”

For a place so close to Minas Tirith, Nag Kath had not been here in the near century of his life. The King and royal family repaired here at different times of the year, usually alternating years with Annúminas. Other nobles used it as well. The path to the farm started rising. The flats became foothills with a gentle roll and copses to either side, not eerie trees lining the Kingly road either. It was still an hour along the pleasant brook until they saw a much larger forest behind the sprawling horse farm. Different paddocks had colts and fillies running with their mothers. Older youngsters were being led around the circle for their first halter training. Stallions were well away. Other fields were not being used, likely groomed for advanced cavalry.

The half-company rode into a circular drive, stopping at a stone mansion with the look of the highest-quality country inn. Elboron and his impromptu guest dismounted. One of the Lord’s aides would see to the master’s train. Nag Kath took his satchel leaving all else to the servants. They walked up the steps to open doors and bows.

A majordomo with a military bearing approached and said, “Welcome back, Lord Prince.”

“Afternoon Willeigh. This is Lord Kath who is here as my guest. Can you find something for him?”

“I will see to that myself, sir. Wine at six, dinner at seven.”

Willeigh led the Elf up one flight of stairs to a row of rooms along a long balcony. Opening the door to the third he entered with Nag Kath behind and said, “I hope you enjoy your stay. Should I see to a man for your evening wear?”

“Tell truth, Mr. Willeigh, I am long on the road and you are seeing my best. I don’t suppose you have something in my size?”

The majordomo looked him up and down saying, “That should pose no difficulty, Lord Kath. Let me see what I can do. In the meanwhile, there are always cold foods in the annex behind the main dining room for those on irregular schedules. Just ask anyone in livery for whatever you need.”

A curt bow and he was gone. Nag Kath flopped on the bed in his road-weary travel clothes. A moment later, an attendant hauled his heavy bag up. The man behind him had the bow, quiver and sword. Taking the manager’s suggestion he walked back down the stairs, not really sure where the dining room was, much less the annex behind it. Asking a maid got him a guided walk one corridor over. He had his fill.

No one said who else would be here except probably Aragorn himself. If the Steward was here, it was likely Eldarion was holding the fort upriver while preparing for his first wedding anniversary. Barahir? He would be with his da if he was coming. Arwen? She seemed to tolerate the false-Elf better these days. Perhaps the King’s daughters, though the little one would probably come by coach, not a problem on these tended roads.

Good as his word, a handman knocked half an hour after vittles with an armful of clothes. The fellow bowed and said, “I think we have something that will serve. You are about the same size as our Lord King.” He laid out not only better dress for dining but togs for swanning about the grounds during the day. 

_____________--------_____________

At the six-bell, Lord Kath went downstairs to join a crowd of about sixty people, most of whom had been here several days. Nag Kath knew a few. Grandthor, assistant of the Purse walked over with his wife Pelentira to shake hands. She looked a bit out of her element between trying not to stare, trip or eat anything that would get on that new dress. The men spoke for a while, giving her opportunities to contribute that went wanting. These functions seem to have internal bells when it is time to find new partners so they would talk again and moved along.

Old Foggs was cleaning his spectacles and didn’t recognize the Elf until they were back on. “Good evening, Mr. Kath. I know you like these horses.”

“I do sir. They have served me well.” Foggs was somehow associated with Kathen as a supplier or builder in Osgiliath. He didn’t link Kath with the first part of that name. “Is Mrs. Foggs with us tonight?”

“Nah, couldn’t get her on a horse if the Easterlings were coming. Some of the women travel in carriages but she hardly takes man-carts.” The old boy grinned, “The missus will find something to do. Now, what brings you out here?”

“Pure chance, sir. I was riding home from Pelargir and pressed into service by Prince Elboron.”

Foggs chortled, “That is a fair summons with good company. Well, you had better meet your peers. I will see you at the meal.”

Other than the Steward, Nag Kath had exhausted his contacts. Waiters expertly weaved through the reception hall replacing goblets or mugs or carrying trays of finger-foods. The Elf had pale wine and nursed it the whole hour. Not long before the meal, he recognized Princess Millicend and the man likely to be her fiancée; a checker of the Purse. He approached and bowed before saying, “Excuse me, Your Ladyship. I am Nag Kath. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Millicend tended on the stout side, a very human girl with freckles and a smile that warmed. She said, “Why yes, Lord Kath. May I present Gervaith Balthralas.” They shook hands. She wasn't appalled he was here, which boded well for the rest of her family.

Just before the hour, a herald announced the King. All bowed and Aragorn strode into the room to say, “Hello and welcome to guests newly arrived. Please, let us take our meal.” He saw the tall Elf across the room and smiled.

With that, everyone trooped to the round-tables. There were place-cards. Most folk returned to where they sat the previous night. Elboron was to the King’s left. The chair to his right was vacant. At another table, Nag Kath was between the long-retired Colonel Westfelling and the female half of the Ingrolls. He said hello to all as they sat.

Westfelling was a sharp old cove. After loaves were served he said, “Fine work with those Numenoreans, young man. Wish I’d have been with you.”

The Elf smiled, “My father-in-law said the same and he is only one hundred and seven.”

“I’ll tell you this for nothing; my daughter and grand-daughters are clad in your heurzis. Fine undergarments they make.”

At the mention of ladies’ underwear, Mrs. Ingrolls looked like she smelled troll-breath. Her husband didn’t catch the Colonel’s remark and glanced at his wife knowing her delicate feathers had been ruffled once again. 

Unchastened, old Westfelling asked, “Long trip?”

“Just over a year with the return half again longer than the going. We saw heavy weather several times but the ship met the challenge.”

The Colonel tore off a piece of loaf with good teeth and said, “Sailed to Dol Amroth a few times.”

“I am just from there and was returning to the White City when I crossed Lord Elboron’s path. It wouldn’t do until I was brought in tow. A niece and nephew of mine were married this summer.” He called them nieces for the same reason he was Uncle Nag. People tripped over the number of ‘greats’ when he tried to be accurate.

“Good for them! I hope the young ladies were garbed in heurzis!”

The mirthless Mrs. Ingrolls had listened to every word and was sure the old nuisance was the sort soldier that must be tolerated for service largely forgotten. Her husband had not trained as militia because of a slightly clubbed-foot and it had not interfered in his career at all, thank you very much!

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath had heard a little about Lossarnach over the years. This was a plum invitation when lesser nobles were hosting and worth blood when any of the royals were here. Third-hand, the story was that it actually entailed to Aragorn’s daughters since everything else in the world passed to the heir. Millicend would probably spend some of her likely honeymoon at leisure here since it was only a jaunt from the seat of power. The little girl was home with her mother.

Lady Genistral across the table caught some of the conversation about Thân zîrân and asked of the courtly people there. They gave Nag Kath fully five minutes to describe their palace and ruler and preserved customs of the ancients. He did not quite get to pushing the King off a cliff. The battles on sea interested the Colonel who tried to imagine cavalry having to make the same maneuvers. Before he remembered it would violate his guideline to not be ancient himself, Nag Kath said, “Captain took her the way Rohirrim stretch the line until the enemy exposes their flank and then turn at speed.”

The old boy nodded and considered that carefully. Even Mr. Ingrolls seemed to enjoy the conversation that was giving his bride a splitting headache. She asked to retire rather than attend the evening gathering and he dutifully trooped after her, no doubt for an earful.

They adjourned to the same reception room where musicians played soft music. Wine and ale were still available but Nag Kath had a large mug of cold tea. It wasn’t long before people in front of him started bowing so the Elf turned and did the same as his liege approached. They shook hands and Aragorn said, “Welcome back, sir.”

He couldn’t say thanks for inviting him so he used, “It is lovely. I am sure I will enjoy myself.”

“Good. I need to speak to a few people but let us talk on the morrow.” With bows he was off to be quickly replaced by bows for Prince Elboron. The man chortled, “You clean-up well. Telling the story of southern lands?”

“Mine seem to be the dullest versions.”

“What of Belfalas?”

Oh, so this has gotten as far as da. Nag Kath would do his level best. “Two of Eniecia and Caladrion’s grandchildren were wed in August. It was a grand affair with bright futures in store. Three of the four are within two years of each other.”

“I have not been there in an age. My cousins came to visit when our Prince Eldarion was wed so now it is my turn.”

Nag Kath took a small chance, “But you send your heir among any number of his peers.”

“Aye, Alphros is ninety three, there abouts. Imrothil is the same age as me. You know the Prince is not doing well, though he has been that way quite some time.” Elboron got to business, “Now, you have an extra lass of that land who writes Barahir fairy-tales. He is much taken with her, especially after her last letter.” Nag Kath hoped that was the same sort of nudge he gave Eniecia when she made her feelings known to Cal and won her man. The Prince continued, “I did not speak to her when the heir married. Is she a serious young woman?”

Perhaps the Guv’s daughter wasn’t the right match. The Elf became lordlier and replied, “She is a vision. Bara would never regret a moment of her company. Do you recall the painting in the magistry-room two doors from your chambers on the seventh?”

“Certainly.”

“She is the Queen, reborn every few generations to live on in the best of marriages. You have but to gaze on that face for your answer.”

Prince Elboron considered that carefully and said, “I will take the long way home and look afresh when I leave here.” A concern; “She is not actually related to you?”

“By marriage only, sir.”

“I am here a week. Take your leisure and we will speak again.”

_____________--------_____________

Taking leisure was the order of the day in Lossarnach. As usual, the Elf was up before the lordly and sauntered around the grounds nearing the first frost of the year. This was not the breeding season so the stallions were behaving themselves. Mares to be bred in spring were with others just separated from their foals, and generally glad to be shot of them.

He walked into a palatial tack shed to see five grooms sitting in the straw playing Dukks. They froze like deer when the tall, stately Lord stood there watching. There was no time to hide the cards and pretend they were discussing harnesses. He smiled and laid his finger alongside his nose before walking past a pair of silos letting onto pastureland. Nag Kath put a piece of long-grass between his teeth and sat on the top rail looking out over the field. A few horses were out. Nobles don’t carry oats so they ignored him. 

There were no official guest activities in Lossarnach. Other than the evening meal and socializing before and after, you did what you wanted. Businessmen who had lobbied for invitations met with those like them in this sanctuary. Women of the fifth did the same. There was genuine state business done here too with as many as half of the standing Ministry or their seconds ensconced, often with representatives of the kingdom states and foreign lands. The place had lots of nooks and crannies that could fit any-sized discussion. It was the sixth-level with a horse-farm around it.

After the sun was full, Nag Kath walked back to the guest palace for a bowl of porridge and tea with some of the fruits coming up the Anduin. A lovely young woman who sat at the King's table the night before didn’t seem associated with any man. He stole glances at her like everyone else. She was sitting in a wicker chair next to a small wooden table embroidering in one of the little rings that let craftswomen get at both sides. Nag Kath introduced himself and found she was Mrs. Peligrue, friend to Princess Milli. Excusing himself for interrupting, he broke his fast and went upstairs to take stock.

Prince Elboron had talked with him for five minutes, which seemed to go well. He could leave anytime except the King said they would have words today too. With no deals to do or shoulders to rub, Nag Kath explored. Walking around the other side of the guest area brought him to a ring of barracks where the escorts played their own Dukks. Past that was what must be the royal quarters. It was a long wing connected to the large rooms of his building and definitely not for casual tourists. Further on, pastureland stretched a mile to the forest. 

He nearly escaped. 

Walking back to the main hall at mid-morning, a group of the younger bucks saw him and one cried, “You, sir. We are off for an archery contest and need an eighth.”

In non-militia archery, teams were usually four men head-to-head or equally-sized teams in an elimination format. It really wasn’t fair that he would shoot with them; either aiming as well as he could or missing on purpose. He never heard the last of that in Dale. But these fellows were insistent; including the recently drafted Mr. Ingrolls who would sooner join them for a quilting-circle than listen to the good Mrs. Ingrolls rail against worm-wool panties.

The Elf said he would get his bow.

He made eight so these would be two teams of four. He joined Lieutenant Scaldir of the Seventh Foot, Mr. Denefister in the roof-slate trade and Mr. Vernonbrad of no stated occupation. Ingrolls was pressed into service by the other team that was also short a man. Half took bows kept in the tack room by the card-playing grooms but his soldier and two of the lads opposite them had their own.

This tournament was set a month ago so it would not be fair for the substitute archers to share the wager unless they did so willingly. Ingrolls was not an archer and walked with a slight limp. A bright spark on the other team announced in a patrician voice, “Hear ye, we are gathered to settle issues of manhood in the realm of Gondor!” His fellows chuckled.

He looked over at the tall archer and said, “I apologize for dragging you against your will. It seems you have shot before. These fellows on the woeful Team Ithilan who caused you this embarrassment have a wager of one Gold Florin among them, sadly instigated by the absent Mr. Tucketh who cancelled his trip inexcusably late. The remaining three are responsible for his portion unless you are willing to accept it for your own.”

The Elf calculated, “So, a nipper to me?”

“Precisely sir. May I ask your name?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

There were murmurs. He was recently famous again, thought that was kept somewhat dark because of the mithril band.

“And do you accept that wager for honor and glory, sir?”

“I do, but I have a condition.”

The murmuring stopped. “I will shoot, but my tally will count no better than the best of my group. I am an experienced archer and would not spoil your game.” His own lads didn’t seem concerned. They had fair opinions of themselves and no idea if he was any good when calling him to fill their team.

Hearing no dissent, the clarion archer declared, “Then Team Quelthan accepts and it is settled. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.”

_____________--------_____________

Ages ranged from late twenties for the Lieutenant to perhaps forty for one of the men who brought his own bow. Nag Kath was ninety three. His smooth face looked about thirty but in the land of bearded men, most thought him younger.

Team Quelthan was the first to shoot at the round targets Sarn't Dedlan disparaged with the Dale trainees. It was about four feet across, pegged to straw bales the regulation thirty paces away and sported a red center spot counting for five points, a black middle ring worth three and a yellow outer ring netting one. 

The first archer was the older fellow with his own bow, their expert, perhaps? All three of his arrows hit the target with one in each color for a tally of nine. His friends gave him lusty cheers. In Buhr Austar that would have earned a pint of red too. Next was Mr. Ingrolls. He was a bit sorry he accepted the offer to join, but how could this be worse than the dragon in linen underwear? He must have shot at some time in life and put one of his three arrows in the middle band for a score of three. The next fellow hit the middle band twice for six as did the team spokesman, bringing Team Quelthan to twenty-four.

Had his own Team Ithilan been playing for real money, and known they had Kath of the Celduin, they would have had the Elf shoot indifferently in the first flight and spit the center on the third. This was probably pocket-change for these lordlings with more serious side bets on the quiet. 

After the handman pulled the arrows, their starter was Vernonbrad. His first shot missed by eight feet. The handman standing off to the side watched the arrow to collect it later. The next missed by less and the third almost hit the target. He smiled wanly and said he was just getting warm. Next was Nag Kath who put three in the center at human speed. That got him some stares but he had already taken himself out of the betting so he wasn’t a sharp.

Third was Denefister who sank three arrows in the outer band for three points, bringing their total to eighteen. The soldier needed six to tie and seven to win the first flight for Team Ithilan. The man missed his first arrow, hit center with the next and barely held the edge on the third to get his six and draw the flight. That was if Nag Kath’s counted full. Limited to his best teammate’s score, they limped-in at fifteen. It seemed his handicap only applied to the last flight.

Now this is where professional sharps earn their money. If there was one, it was the Lieutenant. He did the absolute minimum to stay tied with time to encourage manlier stakes when competitors might be punishing the spirits about now. Since no one pressed the bet, this seemed a friendly match.

Other guests walked out to watch, this being more interesting than sewing. They included Princess Millicend’s friend but not the formidable Mrs. Ingrolls ready to cheer her lord to victory! This time Team Ithilan shot first. Vernonbrad put an arrow in the middle band, almost in the red but the other two were well wide. Nag Kath thought the man’s bow was warped. They weren’t fighting Lings at the gate so he kept that to himself. The changeling put three more in the red. Denefister hit the outer edge twice and the Soldier put two in the middle band and one outside, a team tally of twenty-six. 

The drama was rising. A dozen other guests, some female, made way to the safety line. Before the handman cleared the target, the King of the Reunited Kingdom joined them with his daughter and her man. 

Team Quelthan flexed their muscles and scored thirty with poor Mr. Ingrolls hitting the center red to royal acclaim! They had taken the second flight! With a win or draw on the third, they would claim the title. Where people paid for their own liquor that was the second half of the wager, not including bragging-rights.

For team Ithilan; Vernonbrad hit the middle ring once for three. Nag Kath put his arrows the same place as his last ones. Denefister got hot with three arrows in the middle band so their true score was twenty seven but their handicap score was twenty one. None of the onlookers knew about the wager. It seemed if the Lieutenant could score but five points they would win. With the handicapped bet, he needed ten to bring Nag Kath’s floating score up from the nine he got matching Denefister’s nine. 

The first arrow hit the middle band; three points. His second was barely in the red. If the third hit the middle ring or better, Team Ithilan brought home the wager. He hit the outer band. Team Ithilan won the event but Team Quelthan won the bet. For the bystanders, it didn’t matter and the archers didn’t seem to care either. Nag Kath handed his nipper to spokesman Mr. Cannups with a clap on the shoulder before receiving their due from admirers.

The big winner was Ingrolls. He put a hero’s arrow through the heart of the enemy in front of his Lord King. It made him wonder if he was better than everyone told him growing up. It also made him wonder if he really needed to marry above his station with the associated drawbacks. The next time Mrs. Ingrolls opened her mouth, he had opinions to share.

Unlike with many kings and lords from time immemorial, people knew not to follow Aragorn like ducklings. Nag Kath unstrung his bow waiting for the handman to return the arrows when the King walked over and mused as he had long ago, “Did you fleece them?”

That got the famous grin, “I played a dead-hand ... Cost me a nipper.”

“You should shoot with Legolas! What news of Dol Amroth?” This was as private as they would get with the rest of the party heading back and royal guards well away.

“Two of the four children are married. The Ambassadors are living well. Oh, the bridge over the Celos needs the foundations bolstered.”

The King said, “Come, let us have luncheon.”

As they walked back, the loyal subject asked, “Sire, Lady Arwen was much taken with the gems. Is there more to that?”

Elessar stopped, “It was not of her folk, but the northern Elves had dealings with the Dwarves that did not go well. It might be of more moment to Legolas. I have not seen him since.” The King gathered his thoughts, “There is a torturous kinship with Elves and jewels. You know of the Silmarils?”

“I do, sir.”

“Arwen’s great grandfather was created a star in the heavens, most beloved of the Elves. He carries, or so I believe, one of the great and tragic Silmarils on his brow, lighting the sky, waiting for a great battle.” His Lordship stopped in thought again, remembering the legend that Eärendil was patrolling, perhaps exiled, waiting for the last conflict when Morgoth would finally be destroyed and the world renewed. The changeling next to him had dealings, albeit tangential, with the remnants of the darkness – the only one who had in six thousand years. He had also painted that star before he even spoke their tongue. It couldn’t be coincidence, but the thread was still beyond his ken.

Recalling the Dwarf ring, Nag Kath used the silence to say, “It is all the same to me if you mention this. Frör cannot think it a secret.”

Aragorn stated with a hint of melancholy, “Frör has run out of Elves to keep secrets from.”

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath joined Prince Elboron for tea that afternoon in one of the private nooks dotting the complex. They did not say anything for a while. The man’s Principality and the happiness of his only son were entwined. He would do as the Elf suggested and see the picture of Queen Nepthat with fresh eyes, but he had already made up his mind. His son asked his permission to ask the hand of the maiden of Dol Amroth and he would bless it. Men of their line had good heads for the women by their sides. 

This morning the unassuming Elf looked like a young man to the archers, but he looked like that when Elboron still had groats in his ears. This was Kath of the Water who made plague-ridden Osgiliath the greatest city on earth the day he stood in the Neussan and raised his hand to heaven. If he says the girl is a Princess, by the stars, she is! When he finally spoke, the Steward declared, “It is fortunate that our paths crossed, Nag Kath. That must have been meant. I believe such things. What comes next for you?”

“My grandson Shurran is poorly. I will return to the White City and stay there or close by for a time. Then I will seek the last of my old clues in far distant lands. Are the Elves all gone?”

“Yes. I sent a company there this summer. It is the fairest land in Middle-earth but the buildings are empty. The Elves asked a grace period. When it ends I will allow men to live in the splendor our friends created. It makes me sad.” The Prince sat up straight, “But other things make me merry. I treasure them.”


	16. The Joining of Houses

**_Chapter 16_ **

**_The Joining of Houses_ **

The Winter of 91/92 came early. In mid-November the first storm dropped nearly a two feet of snow on the seventh, half that on the first. It did not melt before the next storm coated it with ice. In Dale that would have been barely worse than average but here, people didn’t always lay-in firewood stocks with the same diligence. In mid-December the Anduin iced-over for a few days. Wolves were forced from the mountains into the river valleys – howling their fell songs where thousands could hear.

Ferries and barges stayed where they were. Messengers between Minas Tirith and Osgiliath cut through the crusted snow on the road for vital communications but there was no merchant traffic at all. Alas, no one here had sword-boots to glide across the ice. 

By Syndolan the switchbacks were cleared, bakeries were baking and taverns with large stoves were popular again. There was no meat to be had unless you owned the chicken. Nag Kath usually kept a basket of his dubious Lembas at all times for travel. He would be the first to tell you there is nothing more pitiful than an old Northman having to eat Elf-bread for three days, unless it is one with an equally snowbound Elf making him wash it down with noisome tea. Shurran reveled in his misery and no one was going to take that from him.

They got another heavy snow in late January but to brighten the mood, it was officially announced that the Princess Millicend would marry Gervaith Balthralas, a gentleman of Minas Tirith on July 22nd. That was plenty of time to prepare locally and those in faraway lands had gotten hints well before. 

By March snow gave way to the usual rain and the in first week of April, brave crocus flowers threw down the gauntlet to declare themselves for renewal. Ferries fighting the heavy spring melt delivered letters from everyone in Dol Amroth announcing the wedding of Talienne Ivandred to Lord Barahir of Ithilien. It would be on August 9th in Minas Tirith with a second ceremony in Emyn Arnen three days later.

Neither marriage would have the impact or international weight of Eldarion’s union, but they mattered. Millicend’s sons would be in line to the throne of the Reunited Kingdom. Barahir was heir to a hereditary Principality and the Stewardship of Gondor. 

The impact in the Conath households of Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth was profound. Penni knitted in the last cold month furiously, her way of relieving tension. Shur even drank his tea. Herristar was crafting a ring of renown for Talienne and secured the commission for Millicend’s in the bargain. The Elf gave him the stones for both and a dozen more on account including one of the Traybors. All the little Conath and Panzier children were excited because they had small parts in the wedding. They were fitted for fine clothes with a little room to grow. 

Events did not fall so well for Shurran’s girl Fëuril. Her husband was not included in the largess surrounding either union. She trudged to her parent’s home with a black eye. The big Northman was ready to charge down to the third and tear the lout’s arms off, only he would have no wind when he got there and need a man-cart back up. 

Fëuril went from being hysterical to dead quiet. Something in one of Uncle Nag’s teas was so soothing that she passed-out on the couch. The Elf carried her to her old room and came down to his fuming grandson and careworn Penni.

Shur grumbled to the room, “Bloody Billich! Dja’see that shiner?”

Nag Kath put his stocking feet on the low table saying, “Caught her flush. I’ll walk down and pay him to be somewhere else.”

If Penni clenched her fingers any harder they would break. Shurran cursing usually got him a glower but she did not hold him to account, so great was her anger. Worse than that; what Nag Kath proposed violated the sanctity of honored union - with his powers of persuasion, maybe fast. But Billich was a dougsh of the first water. There, she admitted it! She also knew her beloved husband was beside himself for not being able to protect his baby girl. A moment before the former second heir to the crown of Dale opened his mouth, she said, “Yes, let us have done with this.”

Shur had never thought of Nag Kath as an assassin. But he wasn’t to be crossed by any man alive either. The Elf looked at Shurran Conath and demanded, “How much?”

“Not a groat over ten.”

Nag Kath walked out the door without looking back.

Less than a bell later, he was home. Hot tea was brought primarily so cook could hear what happened. Nag Kath looked up at her and said evenly, “Thank you, dear woman.” She bowed and walked back to the kitchen.

Shur finally said, “Well?!”

“I’ll have the papers drawn first thing. Will Fëuril sign of her own free-will? I won’t make her.”

Penni took charge, “Yes.”

Both males looked at her and knew that subject was closed. Nag Kath finished, I’ll go down to their house after the papers are drawn and he makes himself scarce. There are consequences for even being seen again.”

Penni was still incensed, “If he gives you any trouble, turn him into a toad!”

They looked at her again, cook and Mestriel from the kitchen door did too. The Elf mused, “Never tried that one. I think I made my point.”

He had. Penni took her nice hand mirror to Fëuril’s room that night so she could look at her eye in the morning. When Nag Kath returned from the notary, mother went upstairs again. Neither woman ever divulged the conversation, but Fëuril signed the papers of separation with style. Lord Kath walked to the city magistry after porridge and dropped a man-cart full of names to get that through the clerks in record time.

The lout would be out the house in two days. Shur asked Nag what he owed and got a dirty look in answer. Fëuril moved in with her sister rather than be alone in their house and played I-see-you with her shy little niece. 

Penni still wished the sorcerer had turned Billich into a toad. 

_____________--------_____________

Heavy runoff that year caused a variety of illness in the growing communities above West Osgiliath. They always had good water but there hadn’t been people living in those lowlands for hundreds of years while orcs held the northeastern bank. Nag Kath had a large tent hastily erected with beds for healing and stayed there three weeks to not come home after his daily service. The disease strangled bridge traffic since Minas Tirith didn’t want folk from either side of the river coming in. And since the disruption was on the Anórien side, neither did the citizens of Osgiliath. 

As is the nature of these poxes, it went from severe to gone in a few days. Folk of the northwestern settlement were almost used to their healer taking indelicately exposed baths in the upstream creek. Crisis over, Nag Kath slept for three straight days and then rode to the east side of the river. Tumlath hadn’t been sick with that particular aliment but something had gotten him. He retired to a life of care in his home with several attendants and a herd of grandchildren always on call to relieve his poor wife.

From there the changeling made Emyn Arnen and was received as a hero for his cares. The Prince and Princess were pleased. Angalica didn’t seem the least bit worried the way many mothers would. They had fine people, her luck had been exceptionally good over the years and her son had become the man she wanted ever so much. Elboron was actually preparing to visit Minas Tirith both as father and Steward in a few days. Perhaps Nag Kath could stay and return home with him? 

Nag Kath certainly could. The Prince said in a quiet moment, “I did as you said and went by the seventh after Lossarnach. A beauty, yes, but it was her serenity that struck me. If she is to be my daughter, I will count my blessings.

The Elf said softly, “When you are there again or I come back here, I will bring you portraits of the women in that line. Even better, I will copy them for Talienne. Then all you need is a picture of scowling old King Brand staring at you with dinner!”

Barahir had been south on his father’s behalf and returned to a large hug. A clean-shaven man, the fashion among heirs these days, he showed his own Dúnedain heritage by seeming still in his twenties. The dinner conversation was mostly on matters of state and the coming announcement that the wonders of Emyn Vierald would be available to settlers, opening the forbidden Elf fief. Woodlands were still preserved but the farmland would not go fallow long, and they had clean water to take goods to the Great River. Nag Kath wondered if it was important enough for the Elf-keepers to watch.

After the meal, Barahir took Nag Kath aside. The Lorist was not as relaxed as his mother. Watching that-which-is and that-which-was is sometimes a conflict for those working both ends. The heir said, “I must choose for a time and I choose to serve my father without hesitation. He is hale and wise. I will continue to learn from him. In spare time, and there will be some, I can attend thoughts of history.”

“I think that sound, My Lord, and you may have help with the bookish side. Let me make a small recommendation …”

“You don’t make small recommendations.”

“Fair enough, before you open Emyn Vierald, take your bride there and stay in the home third from the end, two back from the near bridge. Live simply. Eat the pure foods of the land. Breathe the air as if for the first time. Do that whenever you need to have only one thing in mind, to bring you back to purpose. I’ll sketch a little map so you will know it.” He was sending them to the home where the Elf couple had joined so passionately for three weeks on end. It made a shambles of his own concentration but the newlyweds didn’t need to concentrate.

They saw each other often over the next two days. Typically father and son did not travel together since when Elboron was away from Ithilien, he was Steward and Barahir deputized as Prince. This was routine King’s business but they might do a little planning for both weddings. 

The evening before they left, Nag Kath spoke to Barahir, “Sir, I can’t give your bride a wedding ring but you can.” He handed him one of the large, perfect diamonds that Mr. Herristar mounted in silvered gold with tiny diamonds around it like stars about the moon. 

Barahir was no stranger to opulence but this was on an order of magnitude more than his experience. The heir shook his head and said, “This is … are you sure? I can’t imagine the cost.”

“Neither can I. I gave her sister and cousin earrings and that will be my gift, which means I’ll have to send those girls rings too. The youngest lass might marry sooner now.” He smiled. “I’m off with your da at light and will see you for Milli’s nuptials.”

Almost as if an afterthought, “Folk of Dol Amroth will be here for that.” He winked and was gone.

_____________--------_____________

The template for weddings had been set with Eldarion but because of the crush at the smaller gates, the Lord Mayor decided that heralds with voices pure and strong would be positioned in the city to read from known stages of the ceremony after hearing a horn from the seventh. Men applied for the honor and sixteen were selected to proclaim prepared auguries as the ceremony progressed. If folk could not be there, they were still involved.

Almost the entire population of Minas Tirith and a goodly number of Rohirrim attended King Elessar’s coronation but there were so many more people now. Osgiliath was even larger and a next-door neighbor. They could repeat the horn call at the bridge and use criers of their own, one near Nag Kath’s Dunlending statue. Rohan bolstered their embassy including Prince Haldir. Dol Amroth would be well represented since most of their contingent was here for the second event too. Gimli did not travel as well as he did but sent his second-in-command with a letter and gifts from King Frör, who got out more than his da. All thought that good.

Millicend was very happy, but then, she was always happy. Her mother accepted that mannish peoples smile and grin. Her daughters were not allowed to frown like fishwives, though. There was such a thing as taking it too far. Milli never needed reminding but the little girl had a stare to curdle milk.

Dignitaries started arriving in mid-July. Dwarves were first with the Arnor Lords and Mr. Proudfoot from the Shire and his family. He would become the new Ambassador, replacing dear old Mr. Denfeather. The Rohirrim rode in four days later. Next came Lord Imrothil of Dol Amroth with his older son Dalrothel. Same day but different ferry; the Ambassadors of Thân zîrân with the Governor of Lebennin’s contingent disembarked at the Rammas Gate and made their progress into the city.

The Conath and Libron families deployed the same way they had the last time in the large homes of Shurran and Nag Kath, the latter needing a good cleaning and staffing first. Lieutenants Menalgir Libron and Borond Zurowen with their stylish brides cut fine figures of Dol Amroth poise. A new generation was taking its place. And little Derissa Libron wasn’t so little anymore. Now sixteen, she was tall like her cousins and favored Raniece. Favoring either of those girls made her a future prize in the Dol Amroth derby, especially since she would be cousin to the heir of Ithilien.

Eniecia was lovely but tired. This would be her last trip here. Cal aged slower but he would not come without her. The grandchildren could and would visit them. Shur seemed to know that too but it did not stop his excitement of the moment. He had four grandkids of his own, and a potential daughter-bride now that poor Fëuril was single. The last might take longer than the other four unless she stopped moping. 

With nothing better to do with his rocks, Nag Kath gave very nice rings to his married nieces and a set of earrings to Derissa so she would not feel neglected. Bettes, Fëuril and Heuris got the same on Shurran’s side to even the scale. Herristar was doing well with just the Elf’s commissions. It might also slip-out where these gorgeous women had come by such elegant accessories if making Princess Millicend’s ring hadn’t.

_____________--------_____________

First came the royal wedding. It went fine with a fair sky and a breeze not strong enough to knock-over the temporary tents on the anvil. The horn idea worked except the bugler wasn’t loud enough the first time so the heralds were one station behind the actual ceremony. Subjects neither knew nor cared and the pubs did strong trade. 

At the reception, Nag Kath caught the men of Thân zîrân meeting with other ambassadors in a corner. They now had more confidence in how the game was played. A consortium of shipping magnates with offices in Pelargir and Dol Amroth would be taking two larger vessels with harrier support to their lands next season holding a variety of trade goods. The worm-wool was now a memory and they thought they could find strong buyers for another batch now knowing what colors and weights were popular in colder climes. Former Second Mate Kevland and his detailed charts earned him a Captaincy.

In the days that followed, the Conath, Libron and Princely families had dinner on the seventh. Shurran reluctantly took a man cart. Eniecia and Penni shared another. Legorn did not make this trip but sent his love and a poem he hoped would be read with his son’s strong voice. Prince Elboron was particularly struck by Eniecia. Now 73, she still had Mrs. Borenne’s timeless face, near enough to the one her grand-daughter inherited from ladies long past. None of this would have happened if Nag Kath hadn’t seen that portrait ninety years before.

As threatened, Nag Kath brought a tube with him line sketches of Talienne’s line kin over the years, including the women. Twelve pictures in all on the same size and color of paper. He thought he finally captured Eniece’s eyes. The humorous ending was a larger image of King Brand threatening Easterlings with his axe. It was just a sketch of the statue, less the pigeons’ contributions. He could have used Shurran from that age. 

One of the pictures was a seemingly unrelated sketch looking over the long lake from the north showing Esgaroth in flames. The Conath side knew it by heart. Nag Kath asked Shurran to explain to the Prince’s family. The Northman cleared his throat and rose to pronounce, “This, Lords, Ladies and friends, was the line of the shot our kin had on Smaug as the great dragon wheeled to finish his destruction of Lake Town.” The big fellow was dramatic using his hands like a Sayer in Catanard, engaging the youngsters. “Imagine; if you will, a monster coming right at you, perched on a high, frail tower.”

Shurran sat and was quiet. One of Barahir’s young cousins from Rohan asked, “And that was how the Dwarves returned?”

Shur answered, “Yes, and men to Dale. But, there was more than that.” He looked at Nag Kath.

The Elf stood and said in as near to his Elf Lord voice as he used with friends, “Yes, that is one of the pieces that brought us all here now. The terrible dragon was created by Melkor and may well have come to service with Sauron if called. With him over the Pelennor, things would have gone quite differently. But with the courage of men and Dwarves, Hobbits and Elves, all of good character, freedom was won.” He raised his goblet, “May those alliances never be forgotten.”

There were brave young soldiers in the room ready to do their duty. But they had never heard just how close their world came to not being here. They imagined how little contributions over many years tipped the scale. Not fifty paces away sat the King Ranger and Arwen. In this room sat the son and grandson of Faramir, defender of the Pelennor, husband of Éowyn who slew the terrible servant. People of Dol Amroth knew their own Prince had risked terrible odds to help gain this victory and then fight the Southrons more long years to secure the peace. 

Even Shurran and Penni’s little grandchildren took in the moment. Not long after that it was time to get them to bed and the dinner broke with more to do in the next few weeks.

With established quarters on both sides, the upcoming marriage was more like they both lived in the same town. The young couple met twice, the Prince and Princess had dinner with Field and Grenda. Newlyweds from Dol Amroth enjoyed the summer and rode the Pelennor. Lorandis Panzier stopped peeking through her hands at guests. The Conath grandchildren all had things to do and enjoyed the examples of their older cousins.

The wedding day was overcast and never brightened but did not rain either. The ceremony was held in the Provin Gallery on the sixth. It followed the pattern of both Gondor and Dol Amroth unions which meant on the long side with Sayers and pronouncements. Cal read his father’s poem, which was more dignified than many feared. Everyone had a good time, including Aragorn, Arwen and Eldarion. Millicend and her husband came too with her little sister Inariel. 

The reception was in the same place with tables brought in, a bit of Rohan-style; that. Nag Kath moved among the groups introducing, cajoling and keeping folk from staying to their usual clusters. As it happened, he was talking with the newlyweds when the King and Queen approached. After bows, Talienne was introduced and was welcomed into the family. Eldarion considered Barahir his little brother and both couples spent time alone.

Towards the end, Nag Kath talked with the Dwarves a while. Someone had to drink all that red beer and they did notice the jewelry. The Elf thought similar designs might find their way to market from northern realms.

The Ivandred and Libron grandchildren and Derissa had never met actual Hobbits before. Noble folk of the Shire do not mind being appraised. With their quick wit and excellent manners, any party is a good party. Urandict was now five. The future Northman was still shorter.

The reception went on quite a while. A third round of finger-foods served as dinner for most before the young couple waved goodbye and retired to the Steward’s quarters one floor up. Elboron smiled at the Elf and they said goodnight.

_____________--------_____________

Things settled down quickly after two large weddings in three weeks. Northerners went home first. The Prince’s family returned to Emyn Arnen the next day for a private ceremony with only a few of the Dol Amroth group. Cal and Eniecia stayed in the White City with the married cousins except Raniece and Borond. Nag Kath stayed home as well.

Mr. Herristar received a number of inquiries about his work. Surprisingly, many were secondary referrals from those of Khand and better-heeled Haradrim, who didn’t have cultural prohibitions against displaying wealth. He added two craftsmen, one a longbeard, and spent his time largely in the front of the store dealing with his demanding clientele.

It was finally time for family to return to Belfalas. Shur and Eniecia spent a lot of time alone. This was probably the last time they would see each other. As long trips in Middle-earth go, the voyage between the two capitals was not grueling. But they were in their seventies now and time marches on.

Nag Kath waved goodbye as the ferry left the dock.

A week later, militia training started. In Ithilien, Lord Barahir was excused from most of his responsibilities as training master. That is Sergeants’ business anyway. Nag Kath went to all four Gondor weeks, shooting, riding and got his old job back showing youngsters how to use the bow. Reyaldar’s son Fieldar, now 12, was the oldest of Shurran’s grandchildren and had been consistently stronger than his age-group for five years. The Elf took special time with him and a few other lads to work on breathing, sighting and clearing one’s head. Even with a tight age-range, arm strength matters a great deal because hitting something far away depends on the tension of the weapon. A tighter pull means less arc. Archers have to compensate and learn to trust their training. Their group of five called themselves the Men of the Tower and would be friends for life.

The big news of the fall was that Prince Eldarion and Princess Aranthal were expecting a child, April, perhaps. If the heir’s birth did not assuage concerns the Reunited King was but one man, this put them to rest. Of course, they might have eight girls, but with pregnancy, fertility was proven.

Nag Kath was at liberty. He went to the archives from time to time. He visited Simlieo Panzier’s wheelwright shop and learned to spoke-shave. The man was a bit overwhelmed at being suddenly almost royalty for a few weeks. He and Bettes lived quietly with their sweet children over his shop on the second. Uncle Nag mentioned when business was slack, he might ask if fletchers needed straight arrow shafts made for them.

Fëuril was still there. She never really trusted old Uncle Nag. The woman was polite, respecting his position, but she was glad when he left. Having a sorcerer in the family was simply not done. It didn’t help that her Billich disappeared after taking all but the paint on the walls. That reduced the chances he was a toad, but if even a quarter of the stories were true, Uncle Nag would have applied both carrot and stick.

Reyaldar was a Northman like his da. Thinner and not as tall, he was still a couple inches over the average Gondoran with a bushy beard of the Buhrs. He ran the property side of things here which wasn’t as busy as in Osgiliath since they only bought existing buildings. Trumfred mostly built new structures where old ones collapsed from years of neglect. Rey, as most called him, and wife Heuris were always glad to welcome the Elf and made a point of getting the Telandrin sold by the Khandians on the first. From Nag Kath she learned a few of their phrases which always seemed to amaze the vendors.

As the trees turned colors, Nag Kath was invited to Emyn Arnen to visit his kin. It was a pleasant visit. Barahir did indeed take his wife to the Elvish village and stayed in the cottage almost a week, deciding to keep it for their own. They were very happy together and had more in common than youth and desire. She scoured their fine collection of volumes making notes and investigating things they discussed. Both pumped the Elf with questions about the White City archives. Faramir was said to take an interest in those as well. Barahir took oversight of building in the fief, most cavalry preparations and encouraging farmers there and nearby Gondor to consider futures in Emyn Vierald. Nag Kath kissed them both, chided the Prince for not hanging the picture of fierce Brand over his bed and was off. If hung over the privy, it would not make efforts there any more relaxing either.

Winter came late this year after a long, pleasant autumn. It was cold but did not rain or snow much. Syndolan rockets had gone out of fashion. Living at Shurran’s, Nag Kath did not have a party, being chronically short of Hobbits already, so the year FO 93 came in quietly.

_____________--------_____________

The Elf intended to stay close to Shurran for the time the man had without being a nuisance or acting like he was waiting to do something better. One project seemed worthy. On a cold, sunny day, he rode to Osgiliath to get outdoor paint intending to restore Master Quastille’s fresco near the patio on the seventh. It was good he remembered it because most of the original blues and reds were gone and the other colors in sad repair. 

That location is out of view of the palace because of the window angles so few came by to look. Princess Milli liked to watch when her husband was beetling over the nation’s funds. Sometimes she would come unattended and they would talk while he sat on the ground or a stool scraping the old and applying the new. The woman claimed not to have an artistic bone in her body but liked watching the Elf work, sometimes bringing a flagon of tea.

The rest of the royal family came by separately. Arwen stayed once for a few minutes. He wondered if she remembered the great Elvish sculptors who made Rivendell and Lorien so splendid at their zenith. 

The painting was finished about the time Princess Aranthal went into her confinement. Nag Kath was not asked to attend her but she was a healthy woman from a long line of sturdy Arnorans. Right on schedule, horns were sounded and pennants flown proclaiming she had presented her Lord Husband with a healthy baby girl. They named her Anairë after a queen of Arwen’s line. 

Not to be outdone, they received a letter that Halita Libron was due in the Autumn. Eniecia was going to be a great granna. Two months later, Raniece was with child. It was getting hard to keep track. If the romantic Elf cottage worked its charms, there might be tidings from Emyn Arnen. 

The year came and went with babies bringing renewal to the land. With no real part in that, Nag Kath started a more ambitious project of restoring the Fellowship mural. The top of it was in good condition but children often dragged sticks when they walked along the wall scraping a wide stripe across the Hobbits’ faces. That was a worthwhile project. Between that and occasional healing, it was Syndolan again. 

Just after year 94 started, it was announced that both Princess Millicend and Lady Talienne were expecting. Nag Kath rode to Emyn Arnen to see his great, great grand-daughter. She was not showing yet but sick so he knew to bring the right herbs. Childbearing potions are not as foul as healing mixtures and she vowed to drink them dutifully. In payment for his attentions, the young couple with his parents had the Elf recite the ballad of Luthien and Beren, as he had in Dol Amroth on that fateful night. He said it a touch softer this time to suit the mood of snowflakes falling outside. A few less tragic Elf-keeper stories made their way out as well.

Ice on snow trapped him in Osgiliath for almost a week but it was worth the trip. Fred was holding court in his warm home for dinners and Nag Kath stayed at the Great River. An attractive woman gave him a competitive arched eyebrow but before he decided to follow, a gentleman escorted her to dinner. He grinned to the curiosity of the waiters because he was still not entirely Elf yet.

Spring was mild with no flooding or fevers and it lazily unfolded into a lovely summer. With time on his hands, Nag Kath decided to restore the garden mural on the first level. For inspiration, he took his easel and paints to the sixth and strolled to the far north side for a refresher study. His first visit was with Flor on Syndolan Day when she described her father bringing the family. This was only the third time he had seen this garden in bloom. Other times had been early or late with at best a few petals left. 

He drew the study sketch roughly, knowing the flowers would be done freehand in paint. The branches and stalks came first in greens and tans. As Nag Kath was mixing the reds, a governess trotted behind a boisterous little girl who wanted to see everything at once. She dashed to perhaps twenty feet away and knelt to pull up a sock that had slid to her ankle. Rising, she gave him a fierce stare before asking, “What’s that?”

“I am painting the garden, My Lady.”

“Can I look?”

“Of course, though you will have to come here and see it from this direction.”

Under the mindful eyes of the governess, the child walked next to him and looked back and forth between the sketch and the garden. “There are no flowers.”

He said cheerfully, “Haven’t gotten to them yet. First I have to color-in the stems, like this.” He followed the faint pencil lines with the brown brush, dabbing it on the palate every so often to recharge the bristles. Nag Kath handed her the brush and said, “Now, you try.”

Princess Inariel closed one eye and dragged the brush along one of the lines. With too much pressure it left a blob where it hit and ran dry after an inch. 

Nag Kath encouraged, “Very good. Now, stab it back in the paint and keep going.”

She did. The line was neither straight nor even, but it was a line. The child smiled and called to her governess, “Miss Kurtish, come and see.” The woman approached with a small bow to the Lord and approved her charge’s handiwork.

The White City’s newest artist pronounced, “Brown is well enough, but flowers are pretty colors!”

“Indeed they are, young lady. Let us try those!” Nag Kath wiped the brown off the tip knowing the work was past saving and twirled it in the blue. He touched petals around what would be a nastirum flower and gave Inariel the brush saying, “Now it is your turn.”

She used the same forceful technique to make blotches above some of the stems before saying, “I think red flowers are my favorites!”

“Then red it shall be, your Highness!” A new, larger brush yielded half-inch smears on the canvas, her hands and later her smock where she wiped her hands. 

Undeterred, the girl said proudly, “There, it is a proper garden!”

“Now you must sign it. Can your Ladyship write her name?”

Reloading the same red brush, she scrawled her princely signature across almost the entire bottom of the small canvas. Her instructor advised, “You must let it dry for another week. Then it will be fit to show in the Provin!”

Princess Inariel said importantly, “Yes, unless mother wants it.”

Nag Kath took it off the easel with a cloth so the governess wouldn’t stain her hands and whispered, “Distilled pine essence will clean her up.” The woman bowed in time to race after her charge heading for the diplomatic row.

For the project itself he hired a pair of painters and showed them how to mix the outdoor blends. The Elf found the original grid squares and organized the scaffolding. Elmer and Elmand Urttenbrand did most of the sky and ground and chiseled all of the old yellows up. It took a month but was again a marvel after long years of neglect. 

_____________--------_____________

F.O. 95 was a year of quiet. Nag Kath spent time in scholarship, painting and keeping up with grandchildren through Eniecia’s frequent letters. Legorn Ivandred was ageless, still walking in good weather and always enjoying the music of Dol Amroth. Fortunately, several of his friends were as old as him so they didn’t have to bore their youngsters with the same tales. 

There were babies that summer. Princess Millicend and Lady Talienne presented their husbands with healthy sons. Nag Kath rode Nemren to visit Emyn Arnen and the growing number of people he knew. Sure all were well, he stayed three days and continued to the Elf village for the first time since tracing bad water. When it was opened to mortals, they wasted no time staking claims to the fertile soil and tended fields. 

People knew who Kath of the Water was here. He asked a farmer to plant the last four of the Coloma pips he brought from Thân zîrân that had not sprouted anywhere else. He remembered in the Red Book that Samwise Gamgee was given Elvish soil to nurture the finest plants. Perhaps this ground had the same magic.

The year F.O. 96 came in with a miserable storm and high winds. Several roofs in large buildings collapsed. No one was hurt but there would be no fixing them until spring with all the damage elements would do to the inside. 

About when everyone was sure it would be like this forever, they had a warm spell in February, enough that one could do a few chores outside of the home. Shurran decided he wanted a trellis near the door that caught the morning sun so he could plant climbing flowers. Penni had the seeds and one of the workmen for Kathen made a bent-wood frame. Shur set about putting it in a shallow hole and tying the slats to the porch supports. That all went well but his boots were covered in mud so he slipped them off and went inside in his stocking feet for tea. 

Shur usually wore slippers in the house and for a couple days forgot leaving his boots under the porch bench. They would be dry now so he could just knock the dirt off on the slates. Errand accomplished, he started climbing the two stairs back inside.

He only made the first. Cook found him leaned against the door when she got back with dinner fixings. 

Penni was a statue. She felt this was coming, feared it for years. Now she could only wring her hands except to wipe tears away. Her family gathered around her. Fëuril helped with cooking and looking after nieces while her sister did the same. Even Urandict knew grand-da was gone. 

In a quiet moment the next day, Nag Kath let himself cry for a long time. The big Northman! The little boy in the Buhrs, sitting with the old Thain. Imagining the dragon swooping in, marveling at Radagast. Apart from his wives, Shur was the best friend Nag Kath ever had, in the way real people have friends. Penni was so dear. Knowing this was coming, she already had plans to move in with Reyaldar and Heuris. There was not much she had to do. One day later, the last grandson of Brand was laid to rest.

Nag Kath was the writer in the family. He dashed off a note to Talienne and another to the Thain of Buhr Austar. He could not bear to write the next one. He had to go to Dol Amroth. After arranging for Fieldar to ride Nemren and spoil him with carrots, the Elf took the Fair Weather to Pelargir and immediately boarded the first seaworthy ship to the Commercial Harbor.

_____________--------_____________

Eniecia opened the door herself and nearly fainted. There could only be one reason he was here unannounced at this time of year. Captain Ivandred padded up soon enough to brace her. Cal was out having tea with fellow retirees but that never went as long as lunch.

Taking his grand-daughter to the couch, Nag Kath looked closely in her eyes to be sure she was not in shock. She wasn’t. After a few moments, she focused and asked, “Was it time?”

“Aye, dear girl. His heart failed, same as the Thain.”

She murmured, “Same as da.”

She and Legorn had just finished tea but more was steeped and brought for the traveler. No one spoke for the longest time. Finally, Eniecia said more firmly, “Thank you for coming. This was better than a letter, even if a long way to go.” She looked at Mrs. Vunning waiting by the kitchen door, “Please prepare his room and see to his washing, that’s a good girl.”

Legorn rose and said, “I need to move a few things. Still good to see you, Nag.”

The Elf said, “Penni is moving in with Reyaldar. She sends her love.”

Eniece replied, “I knew that was in store. They had a lot of time to prepare. How is everyone?”

“Taking it hard, me worst of all.”

“You knew him before I did. I can’t imagine that. Like mother, he had two fine fathers.”

Nag Kath said, “Everyone is gathering around. He taught them well. They will manage. How are the bairns here?”

“Both well, and their mothers. Boy and two girls with Halita’s new baby. The girls take after their das. You’ll see them in a day or two.” She began to cry softly. He said nothing. Neither did Legorn when he returned, but he did sit down in case his dear daughter needed him. 

All three were still sitting there when Cal came in. Seeing Nag’s travel bag he said, “Hey ho, company!”

Turning the corner into the great room he knew why. The man sat next to his wife and put his arm over her shoulder. He knew better than to say anything too. When lunch was ready, Eniecia gave her Cal a kiss and then her grandfather. Legorn got his too. 

That evening when the shock was over, the four of them talked about the old times. Those included Cal’s mother and the curious circumstances that had her waiting to be swept off her feet by the southern Marine. Legorn did not talk about her much. 

When the Ivandreds retired; Nag Kath stayed on the couch and watched the moon. Moons near the sea are different. They shimmer, like deserts sometimes. When waking rest brought no peace, he watched the moon. 

The moon gave him answers. Eniece was old but not feeble. It was time for him to find the next piece of Orlo’s puzzle. Angmar seemed quiet, at least, no one was in a hurry to see what was in that nasty crescent. The coin in a drawer somewhere had those unexplained punches in the back. Nag Kath couldn’t dignify his curiosity as a noble quest but it had certainly yielded noble results. He would have another look when things settled.

Eniecia didn’t sent word to the family knowing Callistra and Derissa were coming in the morning to collect belustra seeds for their garden. It took women from Dale to grow them correctly. They just opened the door and saw Nag Kath sitting on the couch. He looked over and said, “Good morning, ladies. I know Eniecia is expecting you.” With that he walked over and gave them both a kiss.

Callistra loved Shurran Conath for the same reasons everyone else did. Compared to the controlled society of Dol Amroth, the big Northman never took himself too seriously. The subdued Elf’s presence could only mean the same thing her mother knew. She let Nag Kath say it, “I’m sorry Calli, Rissa, we lost your Uncle Shur.”

Both women sat where Nag Kath had been sitting. They didn’t cry. Calli could cry later. Derissa hardly knew him but he was grand old fellow and knew he was loved. She was quiet and looked at Uncle Nag. Eniecia and Cal came out together and could tell from the long faces that the news was out. Nag Kath and Legorn decided that they could be somewhere else and went for local nuppers and tea. Cal stayed but wasn’t going to say much.

They got by. None of this branch of the family remembered him as any other than the bear of a man who was always in good humor when they saw him over long intervals. The two new families had babes to tend with their men away as little as they could manage. 

They were home more often than they used to be. The naval and marine tactics were changing under their feet. The high Lords of Umbar, whoever they were, got wind that there would be merchant traffic past their front door with the deep Numenoreans and chose to participate rather than filch around the edges. They were the perfect harbor on the long trip. Their own navy let pirates know that occupation had no future and set a few examples for emphasis.

That was all to the good unless your career was making pirates behave. Sailing in circles around the mud flats of the Ethir Anduin was losing heroic appeal. They had to do it, just not as much and not as often. Corsairs still had unlimited manpower, but if Umbar shipyards along the south Harnen were discouraged from making attack vessels, ship stock would only last until worms ate the planks. Spies in Umbar were better too, some of Cal’s doing. Like the rest of Middle-earth learned two generations before, they had run out of war.

Shurran joining his esteemed ancestors meant more storytelling for Nag Kath. With older children he removed some of the humor inserted to not frighten them. He had lost men in his command, as had the kin of the young people gathered round. Legorn recalled ships lost on both sides, being able to do nothing for men in the water. It brought home just how insulated the Principality was since they hadn’t been attacked since before the War of the Ring.

Dol Amroth was also running out of space. Fertile Princes going back many generations had created longs lists of counts and Lords and favored children with a government the size of a country on a small island. Past the first tier of heirs, nobles of means had started visiting and sometimes even living at their country holdings. It was better to be a gentleman squire growing grapes than the third son of a second son with an apartment and a dwindling piece of the Privy Purse. Cash was good now, but a few bad years might find them on the thin end of the dole.

Spring became summer. The toddlers were walking and talking. Their mothers often traded places so the other could get away with her handsome husband. Mothers were a bit leery of Uncle Nag so he was not asked for baby-minding. That took a turn when Halita’s little daughter Siorscia had a gut blockage and was running a fever at a time when no one else was sick. Herbs and remedies had no effect. Nag Kath seldom talked about his exploits but the family had all heard second-hand accounts of daring-do. Eniecia told them he had also magically pulled dozens of river fevers a day on the banks of the Anduin. 

The Elf returned home after fishing and found a deputation of desperate Ivandreds on his porch who promptly took him to Halita’s. Halita liked the Elf but he was otherworldly and this was her child. Nag Kath held the wailing eleven-month old Siorscia close and said, “Upset tummy, eh? Let us have a look.”

He put the child on her blanket and lifted her smock. With genuine horror, the youngsters watched him run his glowing silver hand over the baby’s belly until her flesh turned yellow! What monstrous devilry was this?! The child howled with Halita on the verge of panic when the infant burped like an orc and stopped crying. Then Uncle Nag said routinely, “Try a touch of feiruc root with her porridge.”

She did. It worked. But what the … ?

He fished, painted, sailed a little, occasionally met members of the Swan Breeze crew and his scholars. Khandrash was over several times to talk about inland Belfalas. The Elf had a better feel for both it and Lebennin from the cross country trip a few years ago. 

Catanard season was fun. One of the six was new, well, new for this theater which was when a writer knew he or she had made the top. Those were sometimes more thinly attended than the known crowd-pleasers but it was entertaining. Players wore huerzis costumes! Callistra could not resist having unattached females join them. Uncle Nag was nice but did not follow-up.

For some reason, Nag Kath was restless as autumn approached. Things were fine here. He could stay forever. He remembered Orlo’s coin in the chest of drawers. Mrs. Vunning thought it queer that the tall man sat at the table studying a copper fiver for hours at a time. In frustration he spun the coin on the plank. At the speed only he could have spun it, he saw the pattern. To be sure, he spun it five more times.

Nag Kath remembered Gandalf when the Uruk formulas were revealed. The wizard closed his eyes and let it all fall away. Those punch marks on the back weren’t letters or ancient code or a constellation of stars. In spinning they were the four huts of the oval compound where he met Orlo. It was right where he was bloody standing with the man! Another illusion in plain sight; for those of wit. But it was a ruin! Was the issue what it had been? Was it the key to the next clue? What mattered was where. He would have to discover all else as it presented itself. 


	17. Retracing the Steps

**_Chapter 17_ **

**_Retracing the Steps_ **

It was time to go. Eniecia cried. Her grand-da was going to a strange and dangerous land again after having been here for half of the last fifty years. She knew he must, and she wished he could always be with her. He gave his love to everyone and was off on the Cloud Stream to Pelargir. This time he honored Phylless and Helien before taking the ferry north. 

Nemren was ten or eleven with good years left. He was Lossarnach, which put him a step ahead of whoever was chasing. Nag Kath traveled light. He had clothes, foul-weather gear, weapons, a month’s worth of a fair Lembas copy and money, some in his pocket, some sewn into his saddle pad. There were diamonds too. Full and empty water skins were ready for dry crossings. He always had his art tube.

Reyaldar said he would mind the store. Tumfred said the same on his way out. Secret things were hidden. There was no reason to look back. Nag Kath followed the same path he did with returning Chûr to Khand until veering up the side of the Rhûn. The western men were the same, trying to bring in the grapes for their fine Dorwinion wines. The Elf did not stop to relive old battles until he reached Riavod. He was just another traveler stopping to look at the stone memorial with the names of allied soldiers killed at the Battle of the Celduin. 

Vegad Druhamel would know the pulse of Northern Rhûn as well as anyone, certainly as well as anyone who was likely to tell him. Asking in the better Easterling districts in three languages would find him if he was still alive. Nag Kath took rooms as Solvanth at the Sea Breeze Inn. Not much changed in sixty-three years. He sat in one of the rocking chairs facing the water.

The next morning a young man very like Vegad had been before the stand at the ford asked for him at the desk. The clerk said he was on the sea porch. The Rhûn knew better than to walk through the inn and circled around in the sand.

“Your pardon, best of sirs.” It was said in good common-speech. “I was hoping you might be interested in a small charm, certain to bring the best of all possible luck.”

Nag Kath put his sketchbook down and considered that, “I am always interested in the best of luck. Your charm must be potent indeed.”

“Certainly, very reliable.”

“It takes one with luck to transfer luck. Do you know such a person?”

“Several, best of sirs. Do you seek one in particular?”

The Elf switched to Rhûnic, “One must be very discerning, on both sides of the transaction. Would not a wise man agree?”

“I am sure he would.”

“In the event you know such a man, please tell him Nag Kath has come to take the breezes of Riavod once more. The wise man can decide which way those breezes blow.”

The fellow rose and bowed saying, “Should I meet such an esteemed person, I will tell him just that.” 

The old man was sitting near the source of his fortune in the sand by the water’s edge. What was left of his hair was white. Vegad never had much of a beard. Nag Kath sat next to him and gazed at the gray water, “Thank you for coming, old friend.”

“How is it you never aged?”

“Eating my greens.”

The man replied, “Then I shall follow your example. I hope your life has been good.”

“I have to say so. I have flocks of great grandchildren who are having babies of their own. I count my self fortunate.”

Vegad said, “I have a few myself, though not so old. You met one. How is it I can help?”

“I am following cold trails, starting in the uncertain capital of Kugavod.”

Kugavod was the winter capital of the Rhûn nation. Bror Hughlan would probably be back there by now. Western relations with this vast country had never been completely smooth. After diplomacy when Nag Kath and Vegad first met, affairs were better, but every third, hurried generation, for reasons they could not explain themselves, the rulers of this land decided they needed to invest the Brown Lands. Aragorn had to assemble an army fifty years ago. The local Dorwinion forces with help from Rohirrim auxiliaries and Dalish militias killed the last probe-in-strength to a man.

Vegad began softly, “Uncertain, yes, but better than fair. This year’s harvest was good, on both sides of the land.” That mattered because the more warlike clans were on the western side, closest to here and Dale. The two Easterling factions only shared when there was plenty and the more traditional elite had the better land. 

Vegad was thoughtful, “Hughlan is old. They like their comfort when they get old. His half-brother tried to raise a force to retake the lands south of the sea until he walked into a knife. I count the merchants. This season saw fewer than usual but more than last.”

Nag Kath held his chin, “Any trouble with the soldiers demanding more than their due?”

“Of course. But only the small troops away from Kugavad. Once you are close, you still need cause and to grease a few palms. Coming back they leave you alone because you carry things the Bror wants sold. So; no different than ever.”

“How is this new Bror fixed for horses?”

“He has a few, but they are not waiting for someone to take them. We see them here occasionally. Every time they have too many horses, they get killed.”

“I know.”

Vegad looked at the small waves lapping the small stones. “I am glad I do not oppose you.”

Nag Kath said, “There is one more thing you can help me with. If I need to make an arrangement with the old Bror, what does he want most?”

Druhamel thought a moment and said, “He is greedy, but they all are. He has four sons of three women. The oldest is said to be arrogant and slow-of-wit, ideal for some Brors, not so good for others. The third has support in the countryside. I hear Hughlan wishes that would go away, that he would live forever to keep them from fighting over his body. Not even you can cure that.”

The Elf watched the same little waves, “Yes, that is beyond my powers. I follow the prophet’s clues. They take me that way again. Tell me, Vegad, do you think the Bror would be interested in one of these?”

Nag Kath took a diamond from his pocket and handed it to the clever trader.

The old man’s eyes were still good enough to see what it was. He smiled, “I am certain of it. Men of those lands have always been poor. When they are poor and angry, they take.” Vegad began to hand it back.

“Why don’t you keep that one for me, old friend? Your grandson agreed wise men consider things carefully.”

“You exceed yourself, best of sirs.”

“It is my good fortune.”

__________-----___________

The old workman left the back palace gate early today. Tall for their kind, long years of toil had stooped him with a noticeable limp, eyes fixed on the dirt under his every step. He carried a small shovel and broom with a water skin and a bag of fried fish and potatoes over his shoulder. No one noticed. No one cared. Every hundred paces he would rest and shift the tools, sometimes taking a sip of water. The compound was not the direction Kugavad was growing, not that it grew much in any direction. Kelepar was where one made his name these days. 

Now, what was he looking for? With nobody near, he walked upright, slowly circling the oval from the inside out with his palms down, hoping to feel something that shouldn’t be there. Two hours yielded nothing. He paid special attention to where the wild cucumbers grew, just dirt and hardy weeds now. 

With a deep sigh, he climbed the most stable-looking wall and sat on the edge hoping a change of angle would instruct. What was this place? It seemed like a course where the Wain Riders were said to race chariots except it was a quarter of that size and had no seats. And those four little huts around the rim would have protruded on the track. 

He climbed down and carried the tools to his own hut, the best of the four with the remnants of wooden top-sills. Nothing sinister here. There were slate shards scattered in the dirt. He walked to the eastern hut. It had a slate floor at one time too. Perhaps the originals were ‘borrowed’ for projects elsewhere.

Anyone the Bror had spying would report he was quite mad. The Elf scooped the dirt floor inside his hut until he hit stone about six inches down. This also had a hard floor but it was now just bits of the same dull slate around the edges and soft dirt in the middle.

In for a groat, in for a Florin. He walked to the short dimension across the compound and started digging in Orlo’s hut, the worst of the four with three bare walls just above head-height. It had a floor too, only this one went all the way across. The hut was only about eight feet square but it still took half a bell to shovel half a foot of hard dirt off the middle. 

Orlo, you clever man!

Nag Kath collected the broom and a water sack. He brushed the floor as bare as it he could to discover a circle inlaid in the middle about three feet across with the three symbols of Orlo face down, only not covered with the originals like the Pelargir temple. As he poured water over the slates, black and green tendrils of malice snaked into the air. There was a small cartouche fitted in the grout. The Elf cleaned that thoroughly and copied it in his notebook before gently prying it up, thinking the whole time; ‘couldn’t you have just told me?!’ 

No, he wasn’t ready then. It took this long for a reason. The cartouche symbol was new and did not combine elements he had seen before. No demons crawled out. Hopefully the Ghurates would know more. 

After a long drink and several bites of Lembas, he took the shovel to the fourth hut. That floor had been torn apart too, probably from the bottom up. The last piece of business was to dump the dirt back on Orlo’s floor including some slate chips from the other huts. Nag Kath left the shovel and broom against a workman’s fence on the way back to town.

__________------__________

The original plan was to bribe the Bror for whatever he couldn’t sneak out. There was no sneaking this. Nag Kath would leave quietly, but now he needed to tell the retreats to keep one more eye on the crude mosaic, and anyone who seemed interested. 

The road to Kelepar was the same. This was the breadbasket of the Rhûn with fertile fields stretching until useful forests with clean water on most of the northeast corner of the lake. The horse farms looked the same too but the horses were a bit less hairy. People stared at his. They stared at him. He saw three half-troops, their standard patrol formation of six headed by a corporal. All three asked his business. One Corporal got shirty and forgot his name for a few hours.

The Visitors should be behind Nag Kath, but for the rest of his life, he could compare the price of whisker-fish versus any other fish on sale. Bottom-fish were always cheaper, now because of the taste. Orlo’s ‘unlovely brown ditch’, the Súrûbeki, was fairly low and he forded with enough time to watch the shipwrights for an hour before finding an inn. 

With the dawn the Elf made east for the retreat of Yhammâs Fruhir. He rested at the proper crossing after a Kath Bath and making a smoky fire for tea. No cautious fellow travelers happened by to chat about their destination. Listracht told him both retreats were doing well, even after the recent aggression of an unlamented local satrap. Could it be they weren’t so concerned about security? He finished his tea and crossed the stream heading north on the Nose of Gathod.

The Elf was noticed when he crested the ridge to the beautiful windward valley sweeping down towards the region of Lest. A rider at the administration building, perhaps the man who should have been loitering near the creek, jumped on a horse and fair flew up the hill to the waiting rider. There was no pretending this was a farm. When he arrived, he asked firmly but not aggressively in Rhûnic, “What brings you here, friend?”

The blonde northerling smiled, “I was hoping for lessons in right-living, friend.”

The man nodded and turned his horse. Tying both mounts on the same rail, they walked in. The Righter asked the stranger his name and was told, “I am called Nag Kath.”

The man bore his eyes in a moment and nodded before speaking to a woman at a small desk outside the council room door and then going inside. Not a minute later, a big man in the familiar tan robe, this one much the better for wear than the Ghurs of fifty years ago, walked out and appraised the new arrival, “Please sir, come with me.”

Inside was an older man wearing a tan over-robe writing in a small notebook at the conference table. He looked up and smiled but returned to finish an entry before closing the book and having a sip of tea. The larger Ghur smiled and said to have a seat and he took one too.

The older man smiled saying, “Your name is known and honored. My name is Ouvouldo and my learned colleague here is Dorxom Frier. We hope you can take your rest.”

“I hope to, but first I have tidings; some good, some not.”

Frier said, “Let us start with the good.”

They knew of the mithril band already. Nag Kath added, “It was destroyed, melted by the Dwarves in my presence. It brought considerable value and I brought some for here and Hanvas Tur to further your labors.”

Ouvouldo smiled and said, “Splendid. I doubt there are any more of those devices on this side of the Great River.”

Frier added, “Good news indeed, and the other?”

Nag Kath took a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it over to Ouvouldo. The man suddenly remembered hospitality and poured his guest a mug of cold tea from the pitcher on the table. Frier looked at the picture and the map on the other side. 

As he did, the Elf said, “Many years too late, I discovered another of Orlo’s clues. The imaginary garden in my mind also houses a warded demon pit, like the one in Pelargir. There was another of the sorcerer’s secrets as well.”

Ouvouldo looked at the paper then admitted, “Your exploits are required reading for higher office, but it has been a while since I wrapped my sorry brain around them.”

Nag Kath gave them the tale of the troll pit, probably the most accurate version of the dozens that swirled at the time. In closing he took the fiver out of his pocket and placed the bottom of the design on the table so it would spin the right way. Both men saw the pattern of the huts but they meant nothing without having seen the compound.

The Elf continued, “The other three huts also had creatures that broke up through the bottom in times well past. Those were not warded. The fourth was this circle mosaic, about three feet across, in the center of the hut. I cannot but think the Righters of the day meant it to stay there.”

Ouvouldo frowned in concentration before saying, “I know the troll hole was quite large, bigger than this table. This one is small. Does that mean whatever resides there is that size?”

Nag Kath said, “A good question, Ghur Ouvouldo. I wondered myself. I think not. If whoever enclosed the trolls knew what they were, they would have all day to lay the stones. I think whoever did this used a handheld spell against something that could rise at any hour. There is no telling the size of what looks up at that instruction. A powerful sorcerer had to do that, perhaps Orlo himself.”

Frier said, “Forgive me, Mr. Kath, old as I am, I am still too new to this world to imagine such craft. Our kind has always imagined Orlo as a symbol, rather than a man.”

“He is spirit, I believe. His puzzles for me have been confounding but took almost no physical presence to provide. I wonder if he was stronger long ago.” Nag Kath took the cartouche from his pocket and said, “Then; there is this. It is not part of the ward but finely inlaid in the mosaic, I think done before in detail and added with the rough stones. I have not seen its like.”

Both men looked and shook their heads before handing it back. Frier expanded, “Since your last visit, our retreat has become more a place of learning and soul. Hanvas Tur in Khand has the ‘eyes’ and has grown more than us. We see men like the incorrigible Mr. Listracht from time to time but they report to the south retreat or a more clandestine base in your lands. One of them will know who watches the Bror.”

  
The Elf said, “I thought as much, but since you are closest to Kugavod, I wanted to tell you first.”

Ouvouldo said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. There are those who would dig whatever is in there out to vex the Balchoth. In the end, they would only harm the sort of folk who need our help.”

Nag Kath had considered that too. “A noble thought, sir. I hope we don’t have to wake it ourselves.”

__________------__________

There were about a hundred people here now. At its fullest, the retreat didn’t see one hundred fifty people at a time. Those who came here tended to stay longer than in the south where there was more healing and practical knowledge. This place was more of soul and mind. As they had before, and maybe always had, there were resident Lorists and Sayers. They had just ended the afternoon meetings and people were drifting to their cabins or barracks to prepare for the evening meal. Nag Kath put Nemren up and washed his hands in the stream to join the early diners in the mess hall. He sat next to a young family whose children kept trying to see his ears. Groats were found behind theirs which was powerful magic to their wide eyes.

The evening saying was a reading from the Book of Khantu, an early Righter who taught widely. Like most of them, he came to a bad end, but his stories survived. It was said in old Rhûnic so the Elf caught most of it. Most people in southern Rhûn spoke Khandian fluently. It was the common-tongue of the east.

A full Ghurate was called for tomorrow morning after breaking the fast. At light, Nag Kath wandered to the pasture below the campus and watched the dogs chase the sheep. They had to be the smartest dogs in the world. Admittedly, their charges weren’t that sharp, but the small dogs could move dozens of the creatures according to the herder’s commands almost the way each bird in a flock will change direction at the same time. After porridge he made for the large building and met four of five other Ghurs who were very interested in troll wards.

Nag Kath was always impressed with their comportment. Proud men of the west would sometimes use councils to show their oratory or make opposing cases to impress. These folk said their minds but never seemed to lose their temper. They knew about the mithril band. Now that it was destroyed, they put it further from their minds. 

For a moment Nag Kath thought even the remote possibility of Morgoth would send shivers down their backs before he realized that these folk had no lore of his misdeeds. Until the last hundred years, they hardly knew any lore at all. Part of their work now was finding surviving pieces to better understand their past. They were not afraid of it. They just wanted to know. 

The Elf presented twenty Florin as a gift from the mithril conversion. It seemed paltry compared to the potential value of the stones but it was a several years of operating money here. One woman said they must not let that go to their heads. No recognized the cartouche or the Orlo sketch.

With nothing to do about the warding pit except keep it to themselves, the meeting broke well before the lunch bell in the west. Easterlings don’t eat organized lunches unless it is a mid-day bite during hard work. As he promised himself, Nag Kath went to listen to the Poet Sayer in the afternoon class. 

Blind, as was the custom but not required, the man sang in a high, clear voice of fears overcome with patience and love. This was a very old poem done in the traditional rhythmic style of Khand. In the west, he may have been accompanied by a light drummer or tuned cymbals. These were long, on the order of half a bell, and the audience was stock still. Instead of clapping like after entertainment, everyone said; ‘Ohhhh’ and let it fade. Other readings and saying they clapped like back home.

The organized classes were held after breakfast and early afternoon but there were others in-between for discussions and song and amateur entertainment. New since the last time were a few musicians trying to adapt more westerly instruments to the songs of the region, a work in progress.

On his third day, Nag Kath was pressed into a story. He adapted the Lúthien and Beren narrative into Khandian. In retrospect, it was not an especially right-living saga, but people were pleased and he promised to do one of the Elf-keeper tales too. As always, probably for as long as he drew breath, someone wanted to hear about the troll swarm on the river. The Mordor story never got old either since that was the end of the modern Visitors. In large part, the Ghurates had to reinvent themselves after Nulvanash took the plunge.

A pleasant week came and went before the long road to Lhûg. It was about four hundred miles as the crow flies, and Khand had lots of crows. Original roads gave the mouth of Mordor a wide berth and there were only original roads here now. There was more drinking water than his first trip. With a fleet horse and no trouble with militias, Nag Kath made the turn from Lhûg west to Hanvas Tur. 

This time he also waited for a competent stranger to see him waiting and talk about the weather. Again; he drank his tea alone, but he did respect the tradition of walking his horse upstream fifty paces and leaving the other bank on a slide of shale chips so as to not leave prints. From there it was up to the ridge. 

Nag Kath was intercepted before reaching sight of the retreat but at that point on the well-worn trail, there was no pretending this traveler didn’t know where he was going. The man said nothing, turning his horse around and leading the tall rider to the Ghurate. 

The place was indeed bigger. There was a third large building and dozens of bungalows down the south slope. Both men tied their horses to the rail in front of the headquarters and walked up the steps. Other than a coat of paint ten years ago, these rooms were the same. Instead of a Ghur walking out, he got a sizeable fellow who looked a deal more Easterling Northman than Khandian. He put his hands on his hips and said in a low, no-nonsense voice, “Welcome to Hanvas Tur.” He grinned, “I fear you taught Listracht bad habits!”

“Failure to supervise adequately, I fear.”

“I had the same failings. My name is Ghuldieg. The Ghurs are in a meeting. I think they would like to hear from you.”

The two walked into the council room. Everyone stared. Nag Kath said sheepishly, “Please, complete your regular business. What I have will wait.”

Only their security man had been told who this was. One of the other Ghurs said in exacting tones, “You had better explain yourself.”

“I am Nag Kath and I bring tidings from the north.”

Listracht described the Elf only six years before but no one in this world imagined people not aging. The first visit of Nag Kath was sixty three years ago. Even a young man then would be doddering now. They all knew who he was and, to a much lesser extent, what he was. But seeing him in the flesh still strained credulity. The changeling did not know it, but some considered him an avatar of Orlo, possibly Orlo himself, returned again to complete the work as he had appeared sporadically for millenia. No one had ever said that to Nag Kath and he would have thought it coincidence, though, in retrospect, he had been useful. 

The head Ghur, not the eldest by a fair margin, greeted him warmly, “Welcome back. Please be seated, Nag Kath. I think our other business is what can wait.”

The Elf gave them basically the same story he did in Yhammâs Fruhir saving the warding pit for after the mithril. He knew Ghuldieg was the head of their ‘eyes’ and they would speak again. People had intelligent questions that took nearly a bell in this the first of what was sure to be several discussions. As they broke, two of the Ghurs and the Eyes stayed behind. The Elf helped himself to cold tea and sat back against the wall. The head Ghur smiled, “Listracht said you were a handful.”

“I cannot seem to escape the man! His stories were said to try the patience of calm souls on the Nose of Gathod.”

The head Ghur was Proberies and the other, older man was Findulas. Nag Kath gave him the eyebrow and the man admitted, “My parents had Elvish ambitions for me.”

Proberies got down to cases, “You found a beast under the Bror’s nose, long hidden and waiting for a signal. Why do you suppose?”

The Elf had a pull of very good tea and said, “This is pure supposition and I hope to learn more, but the only lore we heard in the west was of the armies sent there. People here fought themselves at least as much. If this was one of the Witch-King’s traps, perhaps it was there if Rhûn became hostile to their other forces.”

Findulas asked, “You are a man of the world Nag Kath. What is your advice?”

“I have given that long thought, gentlemen. Let me settle some accounting first. Here are twenty gold Florin; your stake in the mithril hoard. Do with it as you like. I recommend you send a Florin up to your operative in Kugavod. I do not know who owns the property, but in that town, it can be had. If anyone wants to build or starts digging where he shouldn’t, that should be enough cash to buy it through intermediaries, that or put a heavy stone monument on top honoring Timalen the Fierce.”

Proberies wondered aloud, “Timalen is not known to us, a warrior?”

“A wise man of my youth.”

Findulas asked, “What would issue such a fell call?”

“In Pelargir it was just digging up the stones. I am sure there is a spell to overcome the ward. I don’t know it and didn’t try. But your person up there should have a pry bar handy. This war isn’t quite over.”

That took the Ghurs back a bit. Ghuldieg considered it neutrally. Findulas asked, “Nag Kath, does that not risk terrible harm to the people of Kugavod?”

“Certainly, sir, but that compound is less than half a mile from the palace in an area of other ruins. If whatever is down there makes for town, it reaches the Bror first. I am sure that is by design. I am also sure the Brors have never known, else they would order it violated when they were safely in their summer capital.”

Ghuldieg took charge, “Best of sirs, let me consider this with Nag Kath and we will report back promptly.”

Proberies agreed. It sat there for at least a thousand years. Hopefully it would sit there forever more. Ghuldieg and Nag Kath walked out together. After a minute, the Righter said, “Got bad news about Listracht. He turned his knee a year ago. I took him off the road and he is now Eyes in Lhûg. He can get around, but his traveling days are through.”

The Elf looked ahead before saying, “There are worse fates, and he is a man who can amuse himself in all positions.”

“I would have liked to see you two work together in the land of Thân zîrân. Maybe we should put his statue over the pit!”

Nag Kath gave close to his fullest grin, “Statues are not always the honor intended.” Before the Righter could ask what he meant, the Elf added, “Let us talk tomorrow. I would like to visit the healers.” They waved off and the Elf continued to the small area of the campus where people went for care. 

______________------______________

Sitting on a stool in front of the second building was a woman who looked like she bent horseshoes with her hands. Nag Kath walked up with a bow and said, “Your pardon, miss, are you of the Viersh?”

In a voice that took no prisoners she replied, “Nûrad, though Viersh is honored as well.”

“I have come to learn of Nenwûla of the Viersh. We knew each other some years ago.”

The woman looked at the rare beardless face and thought not that many years. She rose nearly as wide as tall saying, “This way.”

Nenwûla was inside knitting. She was nearing ninety and almost blind so she did not recognize the stranger in the dark room until he said, “Greetings Nenwûla. It is Nag Kath.”

“Nag … oh yes. How nice of you to come.”

The Elf had caused her a great deal of stress with pressure to use her healing talents for nefarious, if justified, purposes. She was well past that now and secretly delighted her magic caused the Visitors’ horses to become incontinent before the battle. Her husband died ten years ago, at a good age in his own time. She waited here to join him beyond the Easterling notion of the circle and advised others if asked. The new woman stood ready to twist the tall man double if he troubled the revered practitioner. Nenwûla could not see her but knew her mind and said, “Ventuub, this is Nag Kath. He is a healer also, a healer of induction and much honored.”

That was different. The woman bowed. If Nenwûla respected him, she did too. They spoke for nearly an hour, especially about the Elf’s back. Nenwûla knead it several times when Nag Kath returned Chûr. The Elf decided he would have the two women straighten it again since it still hurt sometimes after a long day’s ride. 

“Honored Nenwûla, are there others like me here?”

“No, she died some years back. Greshules is very wise in the use of herbs and food. She works with Ventuub often. 

Ventuub offered, “There is said a woman of Lhûg if you go there.” She did not mention Chûr. 

The old healer was tiring so he said he would see them soon and wandered over to the pond where he dunked Shelturn his first time here. That forced the Ghurs to take action leading to the collapse of the Assured. It was one of the few times he did a public display of his powers to make a point. His charming personality only went so far. As before, there was a duu crow in the tree hanging over the water. He had almost stopped thinking of them as spies.

Over the next few days, nothing much came of the ward pit. Letting sleeping dogs lie was sound policy. Maybe the cartouche in the mosaic would offer solutions. No one recognized it here either. Orlo certainly set heads spinning.

The Elf took in several of the Sayings, though he never quite developed a taste for Variag singing. The pitches didn’t divide evenly. They didn’t have lusty ballads or sailors’ shanties so the music wasn’t intrusive. After a couple days he went back to see if the healers could realign his back. Nenwûla remembered every bone she had ever felt and walked Ventuub through. The younger woman was an expert in her own right. Dear Nenwûla kept her humorous secret and let Ventuub discover for herself that the young man would make his spine shine silver. 

He went back again three days later. Nenwûla was asleep. At her age, long, deep rest was hard to find. They let her stay in her room and Ventuub did the healing. After he left the first time, Nenwûla told her successor that the Elf, and that was what he was, had encouraged her to open her heart to a supportive man leading to her great joy. If the revered healer said he was a fine fellow, he was.

After his session, they talked quite some time about Nûrad. It lay east of Khand separated by the imposing Ered Harmul Mountains running north/south as far as the lands of the Swertings. Some of the tallest peaks were at the northern tip with permanent snow caps plainly visible two hundred miles due south. 

The school of their craft was located on the southeastern shore of Lake Nennûrad, fed by those northern peaks. Any official of Khand would tell you those lands were of the greater Upper Khaganate, but you couldn’t prove that by anyone who lived below the River Kól. They paid no taxes to the Khagan. That was the final word on who owned what.

Geography wasn’t Ventuub’s best subject but she said the strong river humped-up into Khand towards Lhûg and right back down again making another lake. From there it snaked east until meeting a like-sized river flowing southeast. From the way she described the mountains, the country sounded a bit like the shape of Dale. Further south than her village, the soft fabric ko-ton was grown that was more comfortable than the local linen or wool.

Fierce, terrible warriors came from deep in the heart of that land. For all their claims of independence, the Nûradi here were largely Khandian stock. Further down they were a different sort of men. She said those troops were just behind the Haradrim when the Elessar’s fell ghost army slaughtered them to a man. Could he imagine such an evil force?

Yes, yes he could. 


	18. Scholarship

**_Chapter 18_ **

**_Scholarship_ **

The old Scholar’s school was not much better for fifty years of haphazard repairs, no Halfers deciding what color to paint the trim in Lhûg! Nag Kath pounded the heel of his palm into the door several times. From inside he heard, “What do you want?! People are trying to sleep!”

“Collecting for the Dol Amroth Flower Guild.”

Elf ears heard the sounds of rustling and dragging until the door opened wide with the bleary-eyed Righter squinting in the sun. “By the hanging … come in, come in.” Listracht gave him a very un-Khandian hug and showed his guest to the couch. He limped over to the kitchen for the last two mugs of last night’s tea before sitting in a chair with a padded stool in front for his right leg.

“Good to see you, Nag. Are you just in?”

I was in Hanvas for a week. They told me where to find you.” 

Listracht had a pull of very strong tea and observed, “You always said you would be back. I am sure there is a reason.”

Nag Kath gave him a very detailed version of events, starting with the warded pit. The Righter shifted his weight before asking another question and winced. “Bloody knee, wasn’t even my fault.”

“Did you have the ladies in Hanvas look at that?”

“Of course. They told me to build the muscles around it. I said I would.”

His personal physician said, “Better let me have a look.”

After more tea Listracht shook his head, “No way. Not after those saddle sores. This is sure to hurt.”

He knew he was stalling. The Elf WOULD look, it WOULD hurt and those lily-white hands were the best chance the man had to walk half-normally. While he savored his last few moments, Nag Kath picked-up List's brace. It was the same sort of contraption Eomander used in Orthanc with two pivoting lengths of steel on both sides of the leg with belts looped through them to secure it in place. He put it back on the floor. 

Listracht capitulated. The Elf knelt by the stool and rolled the man’s pant leg past the knee. Gentle probes yielded a chorus of whines and squeaks. “Stop wiggling, Righter.”

This was going to hurt so Nag Kath put a local pain block on the knee and dug his fingers in deeper. It wasn’t bone. One of the sinews holding top and bottom was torn and another was stretched. The healer stimulated the stretched sinew to bring it closer. Then he tried to reattach the broken end. That failed. If he could do it at all, it would take two months.

When Nag Kath stood up, his patient slipped a worm-wool sleeve over his knee and went through the lengthy process of attaching the brace. That done; he said, “Let’s eat.”

They walked half a block to one of the places Listracht gathered information around the city. At this his local tavern, he dressed as he usually did. Others got better attire. They ordered fried fish and ale. When the mugs arrived, Listracht asked, “How long does that silver last?”

“Half a bell. Do it again too soon and the next is half that.”

“Hughmmm. So, what happened to the mithril.”

“I took it to Erebor and the Dwarves melted it. Remind me to tell you about that when we get back to the school. Any chance to right your knee will take two months of healing, every third day.”

“Dougsh, Nag. What did I ever do to you?”

“We’ll leave that for the moment.”

“Is this Elvish healing?”

“A little, but an Elf’s knee would heal itself in a splint. This is mine from the wizards.

The Righter had a long draft of the weak, local ale and said, “You didn’t describe that lot as over-gentle.”

“Not that they shared with me. Now what do you make of this?” Nag Kath handed him the cartouche.

“Nûrad. At least this inner band is.” He traced the one with the back of his fingernail like the temple attendant had done for Melkor’s glyph in Bozisha.

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled even in the gravity of the situation, “It was grouted into the beast ward in Kugavod.”

“Nag, why couldn’t the old man have just told you instead of making you ride the world chasing these ill-favored hints?!” He got the waiter’s attention for another ale.

“I don’t think he could. When we met, I didn’t even know he came to me in a glamour. He couldn’t know if I was on the right side or had enough talent to help. This was a series of tests, ones that I am passing slowly and poorly. And I wonder that he doesn’t have the power he had. Holding whatever is down there would take great skill but now he uses the barest of hints. I have to go. Who do we have in that land?”

The pain spell was ending. Listracht answered tersely, “They aren’t in our guild!”

Nag Kath reached across to his hand, “Finish your drink. I’ll get my horse.

Back at the school the Righter said, “Nag, I’m sorry. I …”

“Forget it. Do you want me to do what I can for that leg?”

“Aye, if you are not in a hurry.”

“It took me sixty years to find it. Sixty days won’t hurt. I can find more about the place. The healer’s tale in Hanvas was that they came to a bad end.”

Listracht was more comfortable with his leg up. “I was to remind you of something.”

“Oh, yes.” Nag Kath dug in a secret pocket and produced six small and a pair of medium-sized diamonds. He put them in the Righter’s palm. 

Listracht took his half-spectacles out of his shirt pocket and looked closely, finally asking without looking up, “Are these what I think they are?”

“Elf diamonds. I got them for the mithril.”

The Righter kept looking and said, “A lordly exchange. I have no concept of what they are worth.” He handed them back.

“You misunderstand, old friend. That is your share.”

Listracht stammered slightly, “I cannot accept these. Aren’t we supposed to be poor and righteous?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Ghurs. Did you keep any of the gold?”

The Righter smiled sheepishly, “A little.”

“There! It hasn’t killed you yet.” Nag Kath suspected he had more than a little if he wasn’t paying twelve groats a month to have someone cooking and cleaning here. The Elf would see to that engagement himself. He would also see if he could design a leg brace that didn’t weigh as much as a plow. Standing he said, “I am going to see Chûr.”

“He lives at his ma’s old house. Lunch was too short to tell you Shelturn died when I thought he might and Idgshtok the same year. The men of Mordor were not made for dotage. Five kids, all counted.”

_______________----______________

Nag Kath knew Chûr wasn’t a Righter in the strict sense but one never takes security for granted. He watched the house for watchers from both sides before knocking on the back door. A servant was expecting groceries so when the tall delivery boy had no basket she demanded his business.”

“I am here to see esteemed Vanteg Chûr, ma’am”

She shut the door and barred it. No one of standing used the delivery entrance.

A minute later, Chûr opened it wide and beamed, “Come in my friend. Come in!” The maid was still alarmed. He told her, “This is an honored guest. We will need another plate at the high meal.”

The former Visitor showed him to the same main room he remembered so well and made him comfortable. “Oh it is good to see you. No doubt you have seen Listracht. We visit once a month or so.”

“I was just there.”

Vanteg Chur was almost eighty. His full head of long hair was brilliant white and combed straight back. Still fit and handsome, he led a good life. A part of that life walked downstairs. They were right, she did look like him. Shaindre was taller than the petite Chûran but cut from the same bolt. Nag Kath rose and bowed, knowing that was a western custom. Here, only ladies bowed in mixed introductions . She joined them for tea brought out by the suspicious maid.

Nag Kath said, “Tell me of your life.”

“Well, I had a small stake …” he winked “… and that became a trading business, mostly here but sometimes into the old Nûrnen lands.” A pause to let the Elf know his wife, like most wives of businessmen, was not involved in day-to-day decisions. He continued, “I did modestly well and retired fifteen years ago to be with mother and enjoy sunrises with my lovely Shaindre. As the Righter has certainly told you, we have two daughters who have two daughters each.”

Listracht had, said they were beauties. Two of the grandchildren were married and the others of the right age. Shaindre said sweetly but firmly, “You will meet one daughter and her two tonight if my husband has correctly invited you to join us for the evening meal.”

Chûr told the cook to get more food, which qualified as an invitation in Nag Kath’s book. They spoke quite a while, leaving Mordor and the Ghurates out. The former Visitor added, “My healing abilities were hard to control, like others in the family, it was said. I lost one patient and maimed another so what little I’ve done is healing stomach aches. 

“Oh, Nag Kath, one of our first runners to the west was the trader Ureano. It seems his business there became tenuous after your visit.” The Elf recalled him well. He wasn’t an evil man and he was competent. Competence is underrated.

As promised, daughter Chûreth and grand-daughters Chievon and Denaldra came about the six-bell. And yes, they might be the Queen Nepthat’s of the eastern world. Nag Kath was explained as an old trading partner come to visit for a few months, buying things to take north. These were the two unmarried lasses. Their father was attending to things near the village where Idschtok lived but they would meet during the tall man’s stay. Nag Kath escorted the ladies six houses over after dinner and walked back to the school where Listracht was looking through old notes.

The next day started the work. The Elf designed two new braces; one to be completely rigid during the healing and another to replace the makeshift clanker that announced the Righter’s approach. The first was just a simple woven reed sleeve with a small bend at the knee. Listracht would enjoy burning it in two months. The other was made from the cheapest sword Nag Kath could find. The smith would have to bore holes for the pivot and slots for the bands but thin steel was much lighter. The bands themselves would borrow from his bow with bent horn laminations to hold the shape of the leg instead of straps cutting into the flesh. Thin leather around them would be supple and support the buckles. It was hard to explain in any language but pictures told the story for the craftsmen he engaged. He also got a stiff brass wire to scratch inside the reed sleeve or it would be pure torture.

Next he went to a service in a better part of Lhûg to hire a daytime cook/housekeeper at Chûreth’s recommendation. It was run by a woman who was all smiles until Nag Kath told her the address. A servant would be provided at 15 groats a month, payable in advance. He paid a silver for three. She would be there tomorrow. Nag Kath told Listracht as soon as he got back to the school so the Righter could hide his money, jewels and probably a few other things no one else needed to see.

______________--------______________

Had he not offered to heal Listracht’s leg, Nag Kath would have bulled-off to Nûrad seeking answers by himself. The adherents of Orlo might have been a force of arms when men warded the pits, but after Sauron, and especially after the fall of the Visitors, they had become a society of individual freedom in a world that had never seen its like. Field men like Listracht were closer to warriors at need. They were few. Working against such overwhelming powers for all those years had taught them stealth and patience. Two months here would give the changeling time to ask questions about the mysterious southeast. His inquiries divided into two lines; one was lore that might lead to either Righters or dark servants. The other was what to expect along the way. 

Study would have to wait. Mrs. Puluogh reported the next morning. A stout, matronly woman with grown children, she was perfect to keep the leering Righter behaved. Mrs. Puluogh would not run out of things to clean either. Both the lame and pretty men had eaten so she organized pails and mops and rags to remove two generations of grime from the school. Her work was strictly inside but a friend of her son-in-law would paint the outside and the make the two-horse stable presentable for a few more groats. 

At lunch-hour in the west, Mrs. Puluogh took her basket to the market for dinner fixings. That was the chance to perform the demon-raising healing on Listracht’s knee. On this the second session, Nag Kath applied the sorcery trying to graft the sinew back in place. Making it stick took more of him than he expected. He might sleep an hour those nights. 

“So, another week or two and I’m fine?”

“Two months, that’s if it works at all. I’ve never done this before.”

“What?!”

“Two months.”

“Couldn’t you find a better looking cook?”

“Don’t you like her cooking?”

Listracht knew he would get nothing he wanted from this exchange. In his rigid splint he had to use a pair of crutches to get around which limited him to a nearby tavern where he was known by his real name. The pattern was to ask what he was interested in and buy ale or wine for those who knew. He drank less than it appeared, sometimes telling the barman to water his wine on physician’s orders.

List was on the couch with his leg up snaking the wire down the reed splint to scratch. It was a life-saver. Mrs. Pulough was washing the area behind the food preparation counter, first brushing off the grease then wiping and rinsing. She worked slowly but did not complain. This should be a long engagement. The stove was outside and her lad would get to that when he showed.

Nag Kath brought Listracht a fresh tea and sat next to him on the chair. He did not use the couch since the extra weight shifted the invalid’s leg painfully. He asked, “Any tidings of Nûradi scholars?”

“That quarry is better hunted with wine.”

Nag Kath wondered, “What about the Khan?”

That was a mouthful and they both knew it. Khan Sumen-Doth inherited this district cleanly from his father. It was a good one. He got a ‘taste’ of every transaction, exchange and inheritance, which was the most important work of his administration. A portion of that went to Ûbésêsh, which was the most important thing the anointed Khagan’s men did. Sumen-Doth’s military needs were about average. There were no credible threats from the east. To the north, whenever expansionist Brors wanted empire, they rode west to get their noses bloodied by Elessar. The Khan had the option of sending troops to, or money for, more serious threats to the Khaganate along the southeastern Swerting border. He sent cash. The Khagan of Lower Khand held the border further south.

Sumen-Doth was said to have an impressive library. The scholar who engaged them for the Mordor commission was a consultant to his grandfather. It might be useful but they had learned in the capital that high lords often burned or hid unflattering records leaving large gaps in the history. That was done occasionally in the west too but, as a rule, no matter how bad the last king was, lore was not destroyed. They wrote less often though, and it could be lost in wars or fires or decay in moldy vaults. The Elves and the Black Numenoreans treasured their records. In the latter case that said a lot since they had thousands of years of decline to chronicle.

Another difference between east and west was that here; professional scribes kept track of current events fairly carefully. Scholars of those records would discuss them to the end of their days, but it was always source material. In the west, lore was always kept by amateurs, often long after events. What made it different was that people like Barahir would compile those remembrances and analyze them in writing. That added another bias to the lore but could be very helpful in following how a people got from there to here. Nag Kath hoped Barahir could copy the Red Book so it would live on.

____________--------____________

Now; about the Khan: It was Righter policy to avoid any dealings with the authorities. They paid their taxes, caused no trouble and got none in exchange. That said; with the destruction of the ring and the Visitors a generation later, the retreats were now in the non-political business of healing. 

Listracht and the few like him were as close as they had to soldiers. Nag Kath, on the other hand, was more mercenary and had no visible connection to the pacifist schools in the hinterland. Still, Hanvas Tur was in Khan Sumen-Doth’s satrapy so they minded their manners. All that had been discussed by the Elf and Listracht many times. The largest threat to right-living was political interference. The second largest was hidden beast-pits whose inhabitants might have instructions to cause old antagonists as much trouble as possible. That fell to the soldiers who had honed their fictitious scholar ruse to an art. They would have a look in that library for the footprints of ancient Righters.

Nag Kath could not simply walk to the palace and say he wanted to read through the files. He had to be invited, and invited for something other than his true intention. Using his same alias, junior trader Solvanth approached the partnership of Chanbough Kultan, known to work closely with the palace, and asked for a few minutes of surviving partner Chanbhough’s time to discuss a matter of mutual benefit. The steward told him to wait and went down a corridor to tell his boss. The man was back out a few minutes later saying Chanbhough was with someone but should be free shortly. Shortly was more like half a bell but the tall Rhûn was offered tea in the meantime.

The businessman was as pictured in the adventure books Ectilla drew for children. Obese, sumptuously clothed and inscrutable, he sat on a cushion of more southerly Khand. Nag Kath approached and bowed before a wave of the man’s hand had him sit on an equally comfortable pillow.

Usually these people have elaborate rituals to begin a conversation but Chanbhough politely started with business, “I was told you have a need my humble office can serve, Mr. Solvansh. Please, tell me how we can assist.”

The guest spoke in excellent Variag with the hint of a Rhunish accent, “Thank you for seeing me, best of sirs. I am a trader of the north. My father’s partner and I came here but missed a man we were supposed to meet. Our part of the bargain is an item that will need a cultured buyer. We understand they regard you highly.”

The businessman sipped his tea from a small, glazed cup and asked, “May I ask the nature of this item, honored sir?”

A real merchant might hem and haw or offer descriptions of things held elsewhere. Not Nag Solvanth. He reached in his pocket and handed Chanbhough one of the smaller diamonds. Anticipating difficulty, he added, “Please, sir, use my fire-glass.” The Elf showed the man how to hold it near his eye and handed that to him as well.

Chanbhough adjusted the diamond and his viewing-stone a little and then looked for quite some time. “I see your concern.”

It was more than finding a buyer. Someone could get the same jewel any day of the week for four Florin at Mr. Hellistar’s jewelry store in the White City. The problem here was that it was indivisible. No one could publicly own this if the Khan didn’t have one as well. If the Khan owned one, the Khagan needed one too. In their lack, gold would have to make up the difference and nobody but the Khagan would get what they wanted. If the junior trader was planning to exchange this with a local – hopefully a man who would pay taxes to the appropriate authorities, that was different, but it cut potential buyers to as many people as the merchant had fingers on his fat hand.

Chanbhough asked softly, “I do not suppose your trading firm has more of these, Mr. Solvansh?”

“One, perhaps, but they may become a stock in trade. Northern Dwarves fashioned these for the Elves. Now that the firstborn are gone, the Dwarves are willing to part with some to former adversaries. My father’s partners are negotiating for their larger stones next season. They are certainly easier to bring here than iron goods.”

Smaller stones now, larger ones later, all handled through the discreet trading firm of Chanbhough Kultan; this had potential. The man said, “I will make enquiries, young sir. Are you in haste?”

In a Rhûnic drawl his guest chuckled, “I fear not. My father’s esteemed partner injured his leg so we will be here a month, maybe two. While he rests I hope to indulge my passion for ancient lore. It is said histories of your honored people are long kept here. I gave your steward my card if we can be of service.” 

“Then we will be in touch, Mr. Solvansh.” 

The merchant handed him the diamond. The fire-glass was in the other hand and he pulled it back and forth in his vision with a genuine smile. Handing that back as well, the young trader said, “Please, best of sirs, that is also one of our trade goods. I hope you will keep that to examine other items of benefit to your house. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Chanbhough had to think about this. Maybe one more? One for him, one for the Khan and the Khan could make his excuses to the Highest of Lords waiting for gems worthy of imperial adornment, with a commission on the latter to his own humble trading house next season. The Rhûn seemed authentic and the diamond was real. He had seen diamonds before. His wife had a very small one but not prepared with flat surfaces to reflect light. Chanbhough would look at hers again through the astonishing fire-glass. The merchant wondered what this would cost in the near-term and decided it didn’t matter. These were the opportunities men put themselves in a position to deserve and he had done that over every decision for thirty years. 

After a couple days to not appear too eager, a man of his firm knocked on the door written on the card. Mr. Solvanth missed the representative of Chanbhough Kultan by half a bell. The young man was a clerk at the firm and seemed very savvy. He wanted to know if the gentlemen could meet with his employer again to discuss subtleties of their unique proposition at his place of business. The lamed Mr. Ionzul pleaded his indisposition, but Mr. Solvanth could certainly represent the firm in all decisions. The important thing was that the clerk saw they were in a genuine, and now modestly clean, trading post. The following morning at the Rhûnic ten-bell was propitious.

Nag Kath was shown in with no waiting. Tea was ready. Looking at the portly merchant, the Elf wondered if he had moved. Chanbhough went through more formalities before business. His man reported they were as they said with horses stabled, a servant and facilities for storing inventory. Chanbhough decided whatever arrangement they made, he must include the Khan. Too many people may have learned of that diamond. The Rhûns seemed discreet, but their first intended buyer was unknown. After forms were observed, the man asked, “Did you discover any more of those lovely gems, Mr. Solvansh?”

What he got was unexpected and solved most of his problems. The young man replied, “Another buyer was unable to complete the transaction so I have two available.”

Chandhough did not like being the first one to talk money but it fell to him. “May I ask the cash price for such jewels?

“In the White City they sell for four Florin. Since my firm believes we can return with others, I will sell you both for six Florin which would allow you to include persons who appreciate the future.” With a knowing head-tilt, “Would that meet the case?”

It was too good. There could be no dickering. The merchant would do no worse than break even unless he kept one for his daughter’s dowry. The Khan would get his tax and favor later business that would fall into the broad lap of Chandbhough Kultan.

When faced with such success, a little honesty is appropriate. “That is a generous proposal, young sir. I accept on behalf of my house and other esteemed people.”

It was time to get what Nag Kath came for. “In view of those who benefit, would it be possible to look in esteemed libraries for my interest in lore? I confess; forced idleness in my uncle’s company is not for all hours of the day.”

A two Florin discount for a look in the Khan’s library? That would be easily arranged. The merchant said, “I will personally speak to esteemed persons about such a visit, best of sirs.”

He would too. Even with the fire-stone, the merchant could not tell the difference between the two gems. The trader was given six new Elessar Florin from the strong-box. Mr. Chandhough sent a note to the Khan’s personal secretary asking for the privilege to bow before the Lord with good tidings.

________-----_______

It took eleven days until the same clerk from Mr. Chanbhough came by to say that arrangements had been made for Mr. Solvanth to present himself at the palace tomorrow at the local ten-bell. They hadn’t given up, but Nag Kath was prepared to leave either way.

The palace of Lhûg is an impressive edifice. He had avoided it on previous visits. There were two front gates, one for the Khan’s use and the other for the vast administrative offices that served the huge Khanate. A rear gate handled deliveries and messengers coming and going at all hours.

It was in a white enclosure with ten foot walls. They were not very thick. In a land of artillery, they would not last a half bell. Guards were sober and clean. He showed the men at the administrative gate his pass and was told politely to climb the steps and present himself to a Mr. Kennambur.

Mr. Kennambur was informed of the guest and walked as fast as a man well into his sixties could with dignity. Both bowed as equals and the little fellow took his charge down a series of corridors to the back of the wing. Kennambur was the librarian of a nice facility. There was a room with real eastern windows holding six tables that could seat between four and eight men, always men in this land. One had six fellows quietly discussing what scholars talk about.

This room opened to a larger space with northern windows to protect paper from sun. It had rows of shelves for the archives of the Khanate. The rooms were clean and smelled considerably better than the papers in Minas Tirith. A lad of perhaps fifteen helped guests needing volumes brought or returned to the table. Nothing was allowed to leave. No smoking or eating was permitted.

Mr. Kennibur’s desk was where he could keep an eye on both rooms. The man had simply been told that a guest of his Excellency was granted permission to research. There did not seem to be a time limit. After making the Lord’s favored foreigner comfortable, the librarian asked, “How we can assist, best of sirs?”

Given the structure here, he would have to be specific. In more halting Khandian than before, Mr. Solvanth answered, “I am interested in lore of ancient Nûrad, before it was included in the Great Khagan’s beneficence.”

As with the national archives in Ûbésêsh, all records were divided by the four Heavens; art, history, religion and celestial observation. There was considerable overlap and scholars specific to each did not always see eye-to-eye. Religion was the greatest of them. When in doubt, decisions fell to that discipline since the Khan or Khagan was the arbiter. 

This was clearly history. Normally, Kennibur would have his lad go fetch a few volumes but Nag Kath got the sense he wanted something other to do than listen or intervene with the grim men around table three. The fellow walked behind the inner counter and brought back one book and a cedar box of loose-leaf papers. He gave the changeling a slight sideways nod towards the furthest table from the scholars.

Kennambur opened the book first and said, “These are writings of Vembran and his son, Vembranic in the year eighteen forty.” Nag Kath converted that to about nine-hundred of the Third Age. “Vembran was scribe to Khagan Gor-Jellamb during the battles where our glorious troops took the low passes and beset the blasphemers below their northern deserts. I warn you, this may not be easy to read if you are unfamiliar with our older tongue. Ariestu over there can help if I am not available.” He had a glance at the scholars. They were quiet now ... but they were scholars.

Kennambur closed that and opened the top of the finely-crafted folio box. It held loose sheets of different sizes and colors. The man looked at Nag Kath’s hands and quietly called his aide who brought a pair of gloves made of fine, soft, ko-tan fabric. The fingers would have been too long for anyone else in the room but they fit nicely. There would be no sweat or dirt on the Khan’s archives.

“Sir, these are accounts of a hundred years later when a deputation was sent in force to receive the Cheyan tribute. They were required to pay money, food, arms and men at the call of both the Khagan and the dark servants.”

Nag Kath thought it was time for an innocent question, “I cannot imagine that was popular.”

“You imagine correctly. In the deputation were men of his Excellency and men, if you could call them that, in the Angmarach’s service. Servants of power, sorcerers with wolves or other fell creatures to enforce compliance. I expect they got what they came for.”

The librarian was about to say something else when two men at the far table raised their voices. Was the esteemed colleague suggesting that Upahndur rather than Toushagid first reordered daily observance?! Family life and social decorum were included in religion, which garnered all manner of opinions. Kennibur excused himself to see if he could keep them civilized while Nag Kath sorted through the papers.

It was slow going. He read Khandian well, but like most languages, two thousand years of little changes took concentration. The writer was a deputy to the Khagan’s man, part aide, part scribe. At least his handwriting was good. It described their progress through the middle of three passes leading from the old Khandian Capital Khand-Amu to a large city in Chey, an empire in southern Nûrad, a hundred leagues east of the pass. 

With them were twelve servants of Sauron. Two of those were sorcerers; one to tell the truth of answers, one to insist on it. The others were soldiers, grim, silent and watchful. Deputy Asbouth’s cortege was larger than the Yvsuldors' since this was supposed to have at least the trappings of a state visit. They had eighty mounted spearmen protecting the Emissary along with an assortment of purse, tax and military experts to be sure the levies were paid scrupulously.

The call was for two thousand infantry with arms and provisions to march north of Mordor and support horse and chariot riders from those plains. Nag Kath had seen some of them staring up in anger from a foot below stinking bog water. What was most telling was the ability to draw two thousand men from the population without emptying the city. Unlike the chariot riders, women and children stayed at home.

Kennambur was still speaking with the scholars. Nag Kath flipped though the pages specifically looking for anything about the Yvsuldor or those who opposed them. The Deputy was recording his Lord’s business but that included recruitment. Halfway back were a sketch and map of the city, both well done. Nag Kath put it at half the size of Pelargir but with only a main river along the eastern edge. There were trees. 

It wasn’t until three pages from the end that their soldiers were pressed into service to help the Yvsuldor deal with agitators who poisoned two of the dark ones. It takes magic poison to poison sorcerers. The ruler of the city ordered his men to assist their inquiries. A number of people were put to the question but nothing came of it. In a rare moment away from the purity of the mission, the Deputy wrote that other acts of treason had been committed in secret over the years. Examples were made, probably not of anyone responsible, and they withdrew; the Khagan’s men to the west and the Yvsuldor’s conscripts tramping north. 

The scholars had not come to blows so Kennambur was back when Nag Kath opened the book. There was not much here. Like its counterparts in the west, it was mostly grand pronouncements about great lords and noble deeds but not the distances between drinking water. The Righters were not mentioned. That made sense since there was no one Orlo would have favored in that squabble. 

The librarian returned to compliments. His guest was greatly impressed by the collection he worked so hard to present. That was prelude to the tall man saying, “I hope you settled the scholars.”

“Never. They are religious men and always right.”

“Are there scholars of this lore, Mr. Kennambur?”

The man smiled looking at the far table, “Not with the same strong views. A Mr. Nennambuul comes in time and again. His interest is more hobby, but the man is a courteous guest.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Kennambur. Where should I seek Mr. Nennambuul?”

“He lives in Bech Ghel, short street, blue door, I think.”

__________------_________

Nag Kath walked directly over. The lane was only eight houses on either side between a market street and other houses a block away. It was a nice neighborhood of smaller, well-kept homes. None of the doors were blue so he knocked on the most recently painted and was directed two buildings down. That door was opened by a bright-eyed lad of about eleven The Elf greeted him and said he was looking for Mr. Nennambuul. The boy wasted no time on protocol and shouted over his shoulder, “Uncle, someone to see you.” 

He was reinforced by a man of about sixty wearing slippers and a comfortable light robe over trousers and a shirt. What was left of his hair was sticking sideways as if he had been sleeping. Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, sir, Librarian Kennambur suggest you might help me in my studies.”

The fellow grinned broadly and asked, “How is the old rascal?”

“He was settling disputes with a table of religious men but seemed hale.”

“We can ask no more. Come in. Tea?”

“Yes, thank you. I am Nag Solvanth.” The nephew was sent for refreshments and Nennambuul ushered the Elf into a small room, made smaller by haphazard stacks of books and papers. 

Nennambuul said, “Nice of him to send you. I warn you, my views are not always favored by those of greater learning.” A way of saying they might not always be in accord with the palace.

Solvanth smiled, “I had asked about old Nûrad and was given to understand not all records were to hand.”

“That’s one way of putting it. May I ask your interest, young sir.”

That was a question the Elf would rather have come later. This man was not in the Khan’s service. He watched his tongue, but not out of devotion. The room showed no symbols of personal gods or Valar. Did he take in relatives or was it the other way around?

A clue arrived bearing tea. She had been attractive but with the sort of face that absorbed every disappointment. There was no wedding band. The woman gave Nag Kath a forced smile and left without introduction. So; he took them in, an honorable man but probably open to paid consulting. Nag Kath answered, “Sir, I am interested in anything I can find about Nûrad; history, culture, war, particularly politics.”

Nennambuul considered that carefully. His tea was too hot so he put it on the table and said, “That is a long list. You do not appear to be of those people.”

“I am of northern stock, honored sir.”

“I thought as much. My archives are modest.” He waved his hand at the papers. “That is an area of study I enjoy.”

Nag Kath’s tea was too hot too. He said over the steam, “I should make plain that your counsel need not be purely donated.”

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Solvanth?”

“If you could make your self available for consulting over the next month, would you consider a quarter Florin insulting?”

The Dukks face could only hold so long. Nennambuul chuckled, “I have been insulted far worse for far less, Mr. Solvanth.”

The man was expecting a drawn-out negotiation over when and how that would be paid. What he got was the blonde man laying down a nipper. And just like Captain Penandoth, the scholar looked at it closely. Then he slowly mouthed, “Your favor with the authorities matters in this, best of sirs.”

“I have just done the Khan a service. He sent me to the librarian and he sent me here, unofficially.”

Nennambuul slipped the coin into an inside pocket and asked, “Where should these discussions occur?”

Listracht was sleeping when Nag Kath got there, a good sign that today’s healing was not too painful. When the Righter woke, the Elf mentioned, “Got a guest coming tomorrow. Do you know a Mr. Nennambuul?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“He is a scholar on Nûrad. I’ll go get him after we break our fasts.”

__________------__________

Nennambuul was at his door with a belly full of porridge and a satchel when Nag Kath arrived to bring him to the school. A half-bell walk was longer for a few wrong turns to see if anyone else made the same mistakes. Mrs. Puluogh was leaving with her basket when they walked by.

The Righter and Elf had prepared excuses and names for most possibilities, but not this one. Nennambuul stared for a moment and cried, “Listracht, you old devil! I heard you were lamed.”

“Hello Artur!” That was as much as he would say until Nag Kath salvaged the situation. 

Nennambuul solved that, “How could you be this pretty man’s uncle?”

Listracht said affably, “It is a title of respect. Sit down. Nephew, can you bring your father’s favored partner some tea?” His mug was full, “Er, hot tea.”

While serving, the Elf thought he needed to simplify. He conspired to bribe the Khan on an elaborate and expensive pretext to see the library. Then he was sent to the Nûradi expert who was on a first-name basis with the resident Righter! Evidently, not on a last-name basis.

Listracht was savoring this. “Nephew, how did you meet my old friend?”

The Elf doled the mugs around the low table. “Mr. Nennambuul has agreed to help me in my studies of ancient lore, best of sirs.”

The Righter struck a theatrical pose, “Lore? I thought you studied ways of counting, Artur.”

“That pays the bills, Listracht.” He looked at the tall Rhûn wondering what about dusty old Nûrad was worth a dented King. 

The Elf was going to let one of them mention Listracht’s contribution to fair Lhûg. When they didn’t, he smiled his simple-nephew smile and beamed, “More than lore, Uncle Listracht. Mr. Nennambuul is an acknowledged scholar of our ancient ancestors.”

The Righter took a sip and held the mug in his lap so he didn’t have to reach so far again. That put things in perspective. With avuncular indulgence, and against the likelihood that their guest’s pocket was fuller than this time yesterday, Listracht chuckled, “Are you on that again? I should not complain. Your father never gave up his interest.” To the scholar, “I am curious as well. 

Nephew Nag asked, “Is there any word as to when you can work again, Uncle Listracht?”

The Righter was about to say; ‘You’re asking me?!’ then realized the nature of the question. “Ah, work. It might be months before I am able to travel again. By now, Brothar will have taken all of the Kelepar contracts. You will have to win them back for us, young man!” That was a ready-made fiction if the Khan had questions since they could not rely on mobility. 

Nennambuul was still a risk. Listracht’s claim to be traveling merchant was thin since he had been here for a year, not that the scholar knew when he came and went. Pretending to be half of what they were seemed harmless, but the Righters were more dangerous than ordinary cut-throats to the wrong throats.

The scholar did not sense the tension and said, “Well, young man, you have engaged me to tell you what I know about ancient Nûrad, including Chey, I suppose.” He looked over saying, “That is a broad subject.”

“Sir, I meant all but I am specifically interested in two things, starting with recruiting armies to serve Sauron going back two thousand years … Uncle, more tea?”

Listracht shook his head. Nennambuul answered, “This is from what little Khand has kept. There is more in Ûbésêsh. When the dark lord’s servants came to demand armies, it did not end regional tensions. Often times, great hosts would battle among themselves if one group did not want to serve since the weaker army was usually assigned poorer battle positions when they went west. Chey was a great power here in constantly rivalry with Khand. They lost more of those fights than they won and were diminished. In the last war, their descendants were forced into the center column between the huge beasts and reserve orcs. Then it was said a terrible wind of rotten ghosts blew through them, killing every man while a number of Khandians and Swertings to either flank fled and survived.”

The hobbled trader kept the thread alive, “A fell wind of ghosts? What sorcery did the Elessar possess?”

“No one knows. By then, the land was Nûrad. The Cheyans were long gone a thousand years ago. The Khagan, in his wisdom, oversees their protection.”

Youthful Solvanth was rapt, “I have heard of the terrible ghost plague. My other interest is those who spoke against dark service.”

Nennambuul knitted his brows and asked, “You mean like the right-livers west of the city?”

Listracht pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if having eaten a frozen treat too quickly. The Elf only took a moment to react, “They still exist?!”

Nennambuul said helpfully, “Sing songs and heal hurts. Listracht, you ought to see what they can do for that game leg.”

The bald merchant mumbled, “I’d better do something.”

Young Solvanth jumped in, “I do not know what singing will do, but yes, I am interested if there were those who tried to oppose the dark ones, or slow them down, at least.”

Nennambuul considered that while the Righter massaged his nose and replied, “There was a force that encouraged people to flee or refuse. As you can imagine, that did not bring favor from the servants; terrible wolves and sorcerers and orcs; they were, in fell times when darkness blotted the sun. The Nazgûl were said to come when armies were needed. I suppose some people escaped.”

Listracht’s headache seemed better, “A hard business; fight and die or refuse and die. How did these people make themselves known?”

The scholar chuckled, “Before my time. Servants were said to burn anything that carried their glyph.”

Enthusiastic junior partner Solvanth exclaimed, “See uncle, like the dark one’s sigil.”

“Do not go crashing into the bushes, young man. We do not know if they rallied behind a lord or just shrank from duty.”

The young trader would not be dissuaded, “Do you suppose it was the same as found among the Wain-riders?”

This was one of Nenambuul’s passions too and he was genuinely curious, “What sigil is this, Mr. Solvanth?”

The Elf went to a modest pile of books, bringing one open to a symbol of Orlo he drew last week. Reverentially the young trader said, “This was discovered among those who fled to the cold north. Those remaining in the village were slaughtered in retribution. A few survivors returned. My father is now among those ancestors. He tried to understand but ran out of time, as men must. I carry his torch.”

The scholar had a hard look and said, “It seems familiar, perhaps the mark of Stámo?”

Nag Kath murmured, “Orlo?”

“No, sorry, I said Stámo, a sorcerer. I do not know if he encouraged folk to escape or not. He would be about the right time though.”

Listracht offered, “Did you show Artur your da’s cartouche?”

“No uncle, I completely forgot.” Nag Kath handed Nemambuul the ward-pit token. 

The scholar looked at it for a minute and said, “I am afraid I have raised your hopes unreasonably. This inside symbol is Chey, Nûrad now. But notice the water. This shows Lake Nennûrad, on the border, at the base of those beautiful mountains you can see from the other side of the street.”

Listracht decided it was time for a little Catanard. He shifted and groaned piteously. Nag Kath looked over anxiously, “Uncle, you are unwell!”

“I must give this knee more ease than the rest of my body is willing. Is it too early for ale?”

His solicitous nephew compromised, “We make exceptions in your distress, but we are out and Mrs. Puluogh does not know to get more, even if she could carry it. Shall I fetch some?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, dear boy. Artur, this must be a short meeting but next time we will have more than tea!”

When the man was gone, Nag Kath flopped in a chair and sighed enough to fill a sail. Listracht finished his tea, knowing his partner had some explaining to do. The Elf took a long pull of his neglected mug and said, “Librarian sent me to him as the unofficial expert on Nûrad, Chey it was then. You know him from counting. I paid him. How much does he know about you?”

“Same as everyone else. I was a trader. Now I’m an injured trader. I am known to drink and chase women but never get much of either. Hanvas is no secret. He didn’t seem to put us together. Face facts, nephew, sometimes we need friends. You are about to go into a sausage stuffer. Now, what about that ale?”

His nephew smiled, “We might have a little left after all. Nag Kath took Listracht’s tea mug to the demi-cask. 

__________------__________

Three days later, Nag Kath knocked on the scholar’s door. Listracht was right. Vengeful monsters were waiting to crawl out of the ground and beset the Witch-King's foes in who-knew how many places. They needed friends. Nennambuul welcomed him inside and gave his nephew two groats if his mother would take him for sweets. It would buy a lot of sweets. Cold tea was waiting. The scholar smiled grimly, “That was an impressive performance. Can you tell me what this is about, young man?”

Nag Kath leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees saying softly, “I find and destroy remnants of the dark lord’s empire. People have known me by different names over the years. This summer I found a warded pit like the one in Pelargir many years ago. Have you heard of that?”

“Same year I was born.”

The cartouche I showed you was grouted into the mosaic. I seek other clues of the sorcerer who left it for me, said to oppose Sauron for many centuries. He is known further north as Orlo.”

“You are Kath?”

“I am.”

“What is Listracht’s interest in this?”

“The same as mine. His knee really is broken. When I go south, I am the last soldier. The right-livers are now of caring and lore.”

Nennambuul had no faith in the powers that failed this land so miserably. He had heard stories of great evil in the west but after a century, they had yet to return for vengeance. His wife was dead. His niece had no one but her son and they would inherit a nipper more than last week. If this Kath creature was living history and had not slain him, he could see it manifest. The scholar said, “The cartouche was from about the time you asked, no newer than fifteen hundred years ago. Like now; people were nomadic but there was one large city where the rivers meet.”

Nag Kath reached in his satchel and produced the copy of the Deputy’s drawing. Nennambuul had seen it before in the Khan’s library. Almost to himself he said, “Unhumm. I want to call you young man. You are not, are you?”

That got his first Nag-Kath grin, “Younger than the rest of my kind.”

“I will call you young man because I am an old man and set in my ways. What do you seek?”

“I am never sure, but mostly artifacts of the Witch-King of Angmar, possibly called the Angmarach or Ar-Balkumagân, a Numenorean King of the Second Age. He was leader of the nine, Sauron’s most powerful servant and likely the one who enforced the lord’s will here in the east.”

“You must forgive me, Mr. Solvanth Kath. You are from a place that knows our history. We do not. The nine were the Nazgûl?”

“They were, all dead now. But the leader left behind bits of his own power that were not doused when the Ring was unmade. Like swords left in a nursery, they wait for the wrong hand to gain strength.”

“The Ring I know of. When these are destroyed, what then?”

“I will go home to my family.”

Nennambuul was fascinated, “The Valar?”

That got a real laugh. “No, I have mortal families, on the order of twenty five great, great grandchildren. I must lose them, but they are dear when I can share their lives. I have been married three times and enjoy that state.” Nag Kath shifted in his chair, “You said the Orlo symbol reminded you of another. May I have a look?”

It was the scholar’s time to laugh, “I fear not. I barely remember that from when I had limitless time and my father had limitless money.”

“When you did, did you study it carefully?”

“Yes, for hours.”

“Do you trust me at all?”

Nennambuul said cautiously, “A little.”

“I would like to take you back to that memory and help you recapture the image. It is not dangerous, or even unpleasant. But it is not of this world either.”

The scholar thought of returning relatives and asked, “Will this take long?”

“A quarter-bell unless we find something else.”

“What do you need, Solvanth Kath?”

“Please roll up your right sleeve.” That done, the Elf knelt in front of the man and put one hand on his head and his other on the open wrist. “Please, gently think back to that image.”

Nennambuul did his best. His wrist glowed yellow against silver and his face the same. He had no sense of time but only a few moments later, Nag Kath released the spell. The scholar had a heightened awareness of color and remembered the image as if it was an hour ago. Nag Kath had him describe it in detail and drew it with numerous corrections. A quarter-bell after that it was a good representation. 

Scholar Nennambuul flushed, “I must say, that was … new.”

“Probably enjoyable, unless you are taken to a bad time. If you are curious, this is what Orlo looked like to me.” He handed the scholar the sketch. “He is different to all, a much more powerful sorcerer than me.” The image brought exactly the same reaction as everyone else. The Elf added, “People are sure they know him and then can’t recall why.”

Nag Kath slipped the two papers into his satchel and said, “That is as much as I can ask but I will be here tending the old reprobate for another month. In the furtherance of your own interests, we know a few things you haven’t heard yet. I hope you will join us for the promised ale.”

“I will come to your trading post two nights hence with a few bits and pieces we didn’t get to.”

When he got home, Listracht called from the couch, “I hope you didn’t kill him. He knows how to calculate Dukks odds.”

“He is coming for dinner the night after tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Mrs. Puluogh made dinner and left for the evening. The place was finally clean. Nennambuul arrived as she was a block towards her home. Listracht was sitting where he always was and did not stand to bow. The scholar had his satchel. 

Dinner lasted three hours. They talked about Thân zîrân. Listracht held court with an outlandish story corrupted from Shelturn’s telling of Mordor which Nag Kath made clearer, if not believable. The Elf tried to steer away from magic and the retreats but eventually Nennambuul asked, “Now what about the place up in the western hills?”

Nag Kath left that to Listracht and learned something himself. The man was always sober, despite appearances. He answered, “I was called to right-living after I soldiered for the Bror, the last who got men killed. I learned of places where folk were encouraged not to take what was not theirs, that life was better that way. It offered me succor after having slain and taken and not given. When I need reminding, I return and listen to wise counsel and am healed.” He looked at Nag Kath and added, “It is something quite apart from my friend’s journey.”

The scholar considered that carefully. Nag Kath walked him home against bad light and footpads.

The Righter’s leg was healing, even if he could not try it. The Elf stubbornly stuck to his schedule. Nennambuul came weekly, learning far more about his own world than he could from anyone here. The symbol he drew was more complex that the simple Orlo glyph but if one filled in the gaps between some of the lines, it formed the same rune. The Righters got the impression Nennambuul might like to visit the retreat, perhaps with a long-suffering niece.

Two months were finally over. Listracht’s moving brace was better. He would always have to wear it. Listracht would also have to do as the healers said and strengthen his leg to match the other. He might. It was up to him now. 


	19. The Blue Jewel

**_Chapter 19_ **

**_The Blue Jewel_ **

**The Map Khand Topo might help here.<https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> **

From Kugavod to the first three weeks in Lhûg, Nag Kath thought he would have to ride to the back of beyond chasing the old sorcerer’s cryptic clues. Lake Nennûrad was on the border of Khand and Nûrad. About two hundred miles due south, it would ride more like three for lack of a straight road so they did little trade with Lhûg. The lake was nestled in the eastern foothills of the Ered Harmal range that divided Khand from Nûrad all the way to Harad and then some. A natural dam formed the headwaters of the River Kól, said to be not easy to ford even in the dry season now ending. Nennûrad was in the Khanate of Pashir, one hundred miles to its west on the Khand side of the peaks. They were Lhûg’s southern neighbor and relations were acceptable.

Mrs. Puluogh was shown how to make such Lembas as could be mixed from local ingredients and Nag Kath said his goodbyes. The plan was to return before making west again, for what that was worth. The first hundred forty miles was on good road making for the sharp bend in the river at a place called the Temple of Kondri Odchi. There were shortcuts within forty miles but anything to do with temples got the Elf’s attention. 

The shrine was outside a modest town so he stopped there a few hours before sundown. There were no preservation societies here. The architecture could be two thousand years old at the oldest but possibly much newer. It had been rather grand with a main room about forty feet square and smaller rooms around three sides. A family of merchants sought shelter inside but thought better of it when the tall rider started inspecting all the nooks and crevices. 

Nag Kath looked closely everywhere but especially the floor. The slates were laid under the walls so they were original. It gave no sense of foreboding. Used by squatters, it smelled rank but not fell. Water gave no sign.

Another hour’s ride brought him to the River Kól. Reports were right it would be very hard to cross. This was the outside of a bend forty miles long. Trying to ford in the strong flow would land you on the same side well downstream. There was an inn with a tavern serving edible fish and drinkable ale to merchants along the near bank. Other guests included fishermen who hooked or netted large fish and some farmers, about twelve men all tallied.

The tall Rhûn had ale brought to every table to commemorate his father’s naming day. That prised all manner of conversation from the patrons, some useful. The trail to Nennûrad was poor for wagons, fair for horses. They traded primarily with Pashir to their west served by good roads. The northerner would find adequate water but should keep a full skin if he went far inland. Along the river itself were rivulets and the river itself was drinkable but sometimes hard to access.

One local man had been up and down that trail several times and said to watch for swamp bandits about halfway to the lake. They were farmers and fishermen unless a fat prize stumbled by. He had never been accosted but humbly admitted he wasn’t worth the effort. The man did not know if they were archers.

From there it was another hundred and forty miles to the town. If there were bandits watching, they thought better of interfering. The river dipped forty miles from the city and the path cut straight so he was out of sight of the Kól for two days before regaining it at the town along the northern bank.

______________------_____________

It was a blue jewel, not unlike Bozisha-Kantû. Quite deep, a natural dam formed the main source of the powerful river making east. The western side of the city, well away from the dangerous spillway, did not climb the mountains like the Numenorean capital. There were perhaps ten miles of gradual slopes until the massif, divided by strong rivers with fertile farms producing two crops a year. The north side was much the same.

He put the oval lake about twenty miles across at the longest. In addition to the creeks running directly in, a raging river to the south fed water in from peaks on this side of a low-pass to the Khandian town of Alagoth, perhaps seventy miles away. Smaller creeks in these hills made this the only place to cross what would become the Kol for another two hundred miles.

By now, former municipal architect Nag Kath had a good eye for size and folk. He figured the city itself had perhaps five thousand residents, so; not as large as Lhûg but the biggest place in this direction. The Elf arrived about mid-morning with several more market hours to go. Walking Nemren up the slight upslope, he saw folk trading cloth, wool, jewelry, and finished clothing. Closer to the water, women sang that they had the freshest fish, including some whoppers staring at passers-by. There were meats, chickens, vegetables and baskets of grain. Half a dozen kids gathered close, but not too close, to the giant horse flicking his tail at flies. 

Lake Nennûrad had several inns serving the quality. He chose the Helivar with its own stable. If it was nice, he would extend the stay. That night he did not wade into existing conversations with men at the taverns. He was looking for symbols first; some fell, some fair, both risking strong opinions from the few who knew them. The first day he went to the lake’s edge to see the boats. They were similar to the craft of Mistrand. The prevailing breeze was northwesterly so most vessels had triangular sails to tack against it back to the harbor. There were no docks. Since the lake level never changed, men dragged their boats up enough not to float away and tied them to stakes like horses. The exceptions were houseboat where people lived all year. Those were kept downstream for cleanliness. 

Nag Kath wandered the market the next morning, this time without the eye-catching horse. He was still interesting to children ranging from shoeless to fairly well-dressed. His trek took him to one of the better neighborhoods. It was more to the eastern side of the lake and town but not elevated like most favored Dalish districts. The largest homes had stout fences with no obvious guards. There were temples and other places of observance but not in a dedicated quarter like Pelargir. One of the larger structures had what looked like the remnants of a Fûl symbol chipped away, probably within the last century. They would not all be as obvious so he would inquire.

In Khand, even border-towns like this one, there is a large civil administration. It is where men of higher birth than brains can find employment but there are usually a few with a modicum of both. He walked into the Khanate office for the district and told the desk man he was here to study the temples and architecture of this magnificent city for a lore-book. This was not one of the bright lads. It took several minutes to find one. Nag Kath repeated his interests and was shown to a small office towards the back of the building near a real window. 

Mr. Jhelland said politely, “To be sure, you are interested in our older buildings for a report?” Reports were usually given to important people, often reporting on less-important people who had done something wrong.

The tall stranger smiled slightly and reassured, “Purely for scholarship, best of sirs. As my people and yours learn more of our heroic past, men wish to know how they reached their current homes. Their buildings help tell us.” He fumbled in his pocket for the gate pass to the northern Khan’s library. It had nothing to do with this or the local Khan, but it was on official stationary and recently dated. 

Since it was nothing to Mr. Jhelland if the man wanted to spend his money here, he said, “A worthy notion, Mr. Solva … Solvansh. How can my humble office assist?”

“It would help me if there was a map of old buildings. I don’t need to enter them. This is more about their design and inscriptions. If none such exists, a lad who knows the city well can earn a few coppers showing me around.”

The clerk stood and went down the hall for a moment, coming back with a folio. He opened it at his desk and filed through a few sheets until coming to an old one that showed the city long ago. Without comment, he gave it to the northern scholar. This would help, and Nag Kath knew the protocol saying, “Thank you. Mr. Jhelland. I would like to make a copy of this. Do I pay the administrative fee here?”

“If that is convenient. For a friend of the Esteemed Khan Súlëm-Doth, I should think a silver coin will cover all of the necessary taxes.” Such a coin found its way to the desk and disappeared. The man left with plenty of time for Nag Kath to make his copy and have a quick peek at a few of the other pages.

On the way out, Nag Kath would keep his eye open for a Brenen.

__________-------__________

Before lunch, he stopped at a store, one of half a dozen partitioned from a former temple. They sold weaving supplies like looms, along with metal and wooden replacement parts. This area got a supply of ko-tan from further south made from little fluffy balls that grew on bushes. Strangely, folk said it needed sandy soil. There was plenty of sand when you got away from the foothills.

An older woman and a rather pretty younger one took turns helping customers. When business was slow, they made decorative weavings on their own looms. Nag Kath remembered seeing these types of patterns in Ûbésêsh but not in northern Khand. It is difficult for a man to look like he needs something in such a place but he had to try. The older woman rose from her bench and asked, “Is sir looking for something?”

“A gift for my niece. Her mother is now teaching her such craft in Kelepar and I know Nennûrad is commended for your work.”

Whether she believed him or not, he seemed a paying customer. She spoke to the younger woman and said, “Karlalla will assist.” Karlalla rose after completing a pass. These were large looms with levers to shift the long threads up or down so the cross threads would lock in place after every pass. They wouldn’t be cheap either compared to women knotting them by hand.

She bowed and said, “Sir is interested in a gift for a young woman. May I ask her age?”

Sir replied sheepishly, “I think nine, but that could go a year either way.”

The tall man slowly walked along the goods as she followed trying to pin-down what the girl knew and his budget. He was from far away so it had to be portable. There was a carpet in the middle of the slate floor. He knelt and folded back a corner to ask, “Now, what is needed for such craft?”

At the risk of losing a sale the flustered young lady tried; “That is a much different sort of loom than we sell, best of sirs. Ours are more for clothing.”

As if he hadn’t heard a word, the customer pulled the rug up as far as it would go without upsetting a cabinet and wondered aloud, “Yes, how does one get the pattern to show on the top side but it is just knots on the bottom?”

“After the plain weave is complete, those are added in by hand, best sir.”

He carefully put the rug back over the building’s original stones and wondered, “Ah, now what is this?”

“That is a shuttle, sir. Thread is attached to it and one slides it through the weave. Let me show you.” She returned to her seat and stepped on a foot treadle raising the lower threads and lowering the top threads. Then she passed the shuttle through and with another step, changed the long threads to the way they were.

“I think that would be a marvelous gift. These seem much better made than I have seen.” He was right. These were carved of tighter wood and painted or finished for ladies of the fine neighborhoods. The tall stranger added, “You had better give me two. Her sister is but two years younger and I may not be this way again.”

Sale saved, the customer left with two weaving shuttles at a groat each. The young woman watched him walk away longer than she might have before returning to her work.

___________-----___________

Nag Kath hadn’t been entirely honest when he told the administrator he didn’t need to go inside the buildings. He would either pay for the privilege like at the weaving store or visit when no one knew. That could be a lot of places. He had been looking for temples. The warded hut in Kugavod would be small for a pig pen. He wandered back to his inn for a closer look at the sketch of old Nennûrad.

That evening was time to play simple. Purposely arriving at the tavern as it filled, he took a seat next to several better-dressed men at a long table not meant for games of chance. Dinner was one of the large fish, baked with local spices. Ale was the only drink with alcohol so he got one and minded his own business, eaves-dropping on conversations around the room. 

At a certain point in life, a sizeable number of men need a few hours away from their wives. These men may use language not spoken before their wives and daughters, sometimes of wives and daughters. They refine old glories. Some drink a lot, some little. They do business. They share secrets. Whatever the reason, they gather at places like the Lake Heron when the sun gets low.

The tall man asked for another ale in a strong Rhûnic accent. It was unusual but not sinister. He was obviously not from around here and now they knew where. That area was not known as a bastion of piety but it was not unreasonable when he asked the man next to him in fair Variag, “Excuse me, best of sirs. So as not to offend, where does one pay his respects to the gods and Valar of your city?”

He wasn’t specific as to which gods or Valar or barbarian spirits he meant. The fellow took a pull of his own ale, his third by the Elf’s count, and instructed, “Hard to say, young man. Now men of the court visit the Shrine of the Khagan’s Blessing, Khagan Uzmo, mind, not the one from the war.”

The lanky foreigner considered that and said, “Perhaps one that honors the old ways. My father was very traditional.”

The old ways hadn’t gone so well down here. They might have been different where this fellow was born. A man across the table offered, “You mean Those Who are Named?”

“I do not know them as such, but probably so.”

A third fellow next to the second said, “Try the prayer altar across from the cooper’s. There’s thems what goes there on Wednesdays.” The man had seen Northmen there from time to time and it might be helpful.

That got him a good smile. “Thank you, best of sirs. I will remember to light the candle a day before.”

Wednesday was two days later. There were three cooperages in town but only one across from a stone alter. It is not easy to loiter where men are shaving staves from dawn to dusk with nothing to eat, drink or leer at. On one pass he took a buttered loaf to the stone alter and started eating. No one hurried over to proclaim sacrilege. While there he looked for carvings or Northmen, getting neither. 

Another lack was local lads like Brenen or Tumlen. Travelers here seemed to have their own children run errands. At the inn desk he said he wanted to make a reservation for the window table across the street and gave the clerk a groat to send it over. The man whistled up a slovenly lad with a runny nose to deliver the message. Nag Kath would eat there tonight but keep searching for his next Tumlen.

____________------____________

After a week of looking under rugs and buying things he didn’t need, Nag Kath took Nemren along the western side of the lake, fording three modest rivers at the shoreline. The first of them had a barge ferry tied to a rail but it hadn’t been used in a while. Inland opened to small farming villages. There were no inns or businesses until he reached the road from Alagoth over the low pass. He took a room for the night and let Nemren eat real grass for the first time in too long. 

Southern peaks ran almost to the river feeding the lake with strong flows. Rain falling here was always snow if you looked high enough. Upstream was a known ford where folk of Nûrad crossed. With only a safety loop over a rope-line to grasp by hand, it was brisk for those on foot. On the other side, technically now in Nurad, he looped back to the southern lake and was pleasantly surprised to find an outpost of the kneading healers beside a farm town. 

The tall, blonde rider got stares from those outside, those inside and those who hurried out their doors. Approaching one of the strapping lasses, he said, “I am known to Ventuub of your teaching. She helped me with an old injury.”

The woman still stared but went to fetch a more senior member in a nearby hut. That lady walked over and said, “You honor us sir, but she has long gone on to healing among the Khandi.”

“That is where we met, the last time only four months ago. She is well and continues with a woman of the Viersh.”

“They are honored as well.” He wasn’t sure how much. They seemed like competitors, wherever Viersh was. The woman asked, “Do you seek relief now?”

“Yes, I have back pain. Perhaps I can take your care and rest after long travel.”

Without ever breaking a smile, she walked into her hut and returned with a woman aged about between herself and the youngster saying, “This is Fhûlar. She will attend you.”

With the same accent as Ventuub the healer said, “If you will come with me, best of sirs.”

Guilt was not an emotion Saruman bred into his Uruk-hai. At times like this, Nag Kath felt it. He protected people from orcs and trolls and a variety of monsters but he was here under false pretenses. The woman showed him into another modest hut and had him remove his jacket and shirt. Lying on her table, he showed her where he felt old troubles. It was unusual that a man could even reach that part of his back. He assisted, but not enough to show silver. It felt good. I would feel good if his back wasn’t injured. She relieved his muscles too and he drifted into waking rest.

It seemed like a moment later but it was about half-a-bell, judging by the sun. He said groggily, “I think I should have another healing tomorrow or the day after. Who do I see about that and your payment?” He had to poke around for symbols here too. 

She smiled less timidly than the other powerful healers he had met and told him to take that up with the Thourah who introduced them. The Elf walked outside and stretched before going back to the first hut and asking the older woman about accommodations and groats.

The village just east might have rooms. Inventing a number, the woman said it would be a groat for each session. He gave her a tenner and told her to keep the change. That wasn’t good for a smile either. Leading the horse over to the village he got a farmer’s hayloft for another groat.

There wasn’t much more to do than sketch and watch Nemren graze. Farmers put a couple lads at the nearest gardens to keep the horse from the winter cabbage. Roughly the same time the next day he reported to Fhûlar for another treatment. On the table, Nag Kath asked her about Ventuub, who seemed about ten years older. Fhûhar met her before she left. The Elf asked, “Do you go where the Order says?”

The healer considered that and replied, “Sometimes, and with permission, but someone recommended her. They said there was need.”

Trying not to betray real interest, Nag Kath followed, “I am glad she was able to serve. She continued learning from a woman who is very old and now she comforts her learned mentor.” The next question mattered, “Who suggested she serve in Khand?”

“A person of the town who came here for care, though one of us lives right there.” She stopped for a moment wondering, “Now, what is his name?”

“Perhaps the healer there knows?”

“Probably.”

_____________------_____________

His back felt great. Most graduates of this school went into the world. If one could make it to Pelargir, having one in nearby Hanvas Tûr was not unreasonable. Being recommended to go there specifically was even better. As good as his back felt, he thought he would seek additional treatment after returning to the inn. There was no healers’ guild. When the desk man asked about his trip, Nag Kath winced, “Good, but I jarred an old back injury. Are there houlars here who can help?”

“One of the women who does such care is near the water above the boat yard, a large female with strong hands.”

Business was brisk. One man was receiving attention and two more were on an uncomfortable bench out front. The Elf would stop by when they left. He had lunch at another new place looking for secrets. Most of the old buildings from the city map had been destroyed one way or another. If there were wards, they were hidden under new floors.

Nag Kath liked this little city. People seemed relaxed. There was enough to eat. No one seemed desperately poor. Grinding poverty bothered him. He had been sent to heal but did so in large ways. That mattered little to the hungry. He saw the attractive woman from the loom shop going home and she smiled.

Nearing the dinner hour he knocked on the healer's door. A minute later, a woman who looked a lot like Nenwûla answered and asked how she could help. Without mentioning having just been across the lake, he said he was hoping she could see to his old trouble. It was past quitting time but this man was new and might not return like a townsman so she told him to come in and lit an oil sconce next to her table.

“Thank you for staying open. I know your work is tiring.”

Somewhat surprised she asked, “You know our work?”

“Yes, to the north.” Then he was quiet. She would ask again.

Nag Kath explained where he had been injured and she probed with strong, sensitive fingers around the bone, deeply enough that a man would typically squeal. He just took it in and said that was the place. Then it was his turn to be surprised. She pressed down hard and they both heard a loud pop. For an instant he thought there had been damage and flooded the area with his own healing. If it glowed, she did not notice.

Matter-of-factly she observed, “Roughness had built around those bones. They should be looser now.”

He said; “Hmmmmm” and meant it.

Miss Veintshu was a bit better-heeled than the others of this discipline, which made sense since she was out of the school and not working at a retreat. Her home was modest but clean and her clothes were new. As Nag Kath hoped, she said, “Our care is not always known to the north, best of sirs.”

“There are not many, I will admit. I knew Ventuub near Lhûg.”

“Oh yes.” She dug a finger into the Elf’s lower back that nearly had him howl. “Venna went five, no six years ago.”

Trying the same tack here he asked, “Did your order send her?”

“No, once we complete our studies, we go where we like. I am from here and my brother repairs boats.”

It was time, “That is a far from here. Perhaps she knew someone there.”

“Someone who comes for healing told her of a great Thourah there who was elderly and wanted to care for her patients.”

The Elf stretched in comfort and groaned, “Well, I should like to thank him because she helped me just as you have done.”

“Not him, her. A woman of the Phaul district, Mrs. Xhurrag-Ledj.” The healer said proudly, “She comes to me now.”

The Elf relaxed completely, “Then she is in good hands.” 

____________-------____________

The Phaul district was the oldest of the three wealthy neighborhoods. Another was merely three hundred years old and the latest from after the war. Here was where he needed a Brenen or Tumlen to discreetly ferret-out where the woman lived. From end to end there were ninety homes, about half with walls. There was no mail service in Khand outside of official documents and what influential people could slip in the pouch. 

If he couldn’t find a lad, he would have to borrow one. The Elf went to a shop that sold fine shawls and scarves made of the puffy balls and chose one a woman of any age could wear. As he was paying he realized he was late for an appointment and pressed, “This is for Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj up the hill. Can you have this delivered at an extra charge?”

The proprietor was absolutely sure that could be done. Many things in his shop were purchased by family or servants. Two extra groats seemed quite reasonable and the esteemed lady would receive it before the end of the day.

She did, but not by a lad. The old man who delivered it reminded him of the lamplighter in Trum Dreng. He knocked on the gate of a walled home, was admitted and left a few minutes later clutching a cholla patty. The fellow hadn’t been manhandled or questioned, except maybe to ask who sent the anonymous gift. Another delivery man might be treated as well. The Elf was lucky that there was an empty home across the street. The neighborhood had a number of second or third homes for well-heeled families of the capital and inner districts to escape the heat in summer. It had a front window and a back door. Other than a few Lembas crumbs, it was like he wasn’t there.

A stout woman and a younger man left every market day holding baskets they brought back full. Someone else let them in the gate. They had no horses or stables around back. On day three, he thought he got a look at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj. She left in the afternoon with a strapping fellow poorly concealing a dirk just short enough to not qualify as an illegal sword. Her first stop was to call on a friend a block closer to town for an hour while her bodyguard kept his eyes open. Nag Kath could not tell if this was an ordinary precaution or related to secret activities. Other women of means had attendants too but this one moved like a soldier.

Then they went to a store that sold spices. That was one of the first places Nag Kath looked for clues but didn't see anything dangerous. Most folk in the west would have the cook attend this but here you had your own family blends, closely guarded secrets. That only took a few minutes. Her final stop was a candle shop, also a place one sent domestics. She was in a quarter-bell and left with a small bag. He went in a few minutes later and seemed to be looking at his boots before buying a few candles of his own. 

The night after, he got his break. The strapping fellow left after dark and quietly made his way to a large house near the administrative offices. Waiting in the shadows until another man left, he was admitted in the gate. Judging by lamps moving in the upper rooms and soft music below, men were being entertained. A powerful specimen, he was there at least a bell. On his way home the guard walked into a strong confusion spell. Five minutes later Nag Kath was over the back fence to visit the man’s employer.

She was in her fifties or a well-preserved sixty. As she went into her bedroom she sensed him and started to leave when he said, “I must ask you to stay, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj.”

She answered calmly, “My man may disagree.”

“He is unavoidably delayed, ma’am, else we could not talk about the benefits of healing. Please take the chair nearest your lamp.”

She did very slowly and said, “What kind of conversation can we have if I cannot see you?”

“A brief one. Perhaps others will follow, at your pleasure.”

“We shall see. What do you want?”

He answered, “Please, look at the paper next to your lamp.” She unfolded the sheet and studied it. Her face betrayed nothing. Then he asked, “Are any of those familiar to you?”

She folded the sheet, “I have nothing further to say to you.”

“That, ma’am, was the correct answer, even if untrue. The symbol in the upper right is Orlo, who I represent. On the left is Fûl, which I try to destroy. The bottom-right is of a sorcerer I do not know and the last was inlaid on a ward in Rhûn holding fell creatures beneath the ground. I believe there may be something like that here and would not see it opened. 

“My name is Solvanth and I am at the Helivar. If anything I said has meaning, I hope to hear from you.”

She would certainly question her strong-man when he returned for some sense of her guest. Nag Kath maintained the room at the Helivar but moved Nemren and a few things to a modest inn across the street.

There was no mad rush of Guardi the next morning. People came and went. He recognized most of them. Late in the afternoon, he walked into the Helivar and asked if there were any messages. The proprietor thought a moment and said, “Yes, sir. A note.”

It was sealed with a stamp he did not recognize. Inside were the sigil Nennambuur described and the word ‘wait’. Nag Kath kept the room across the street but was in or about the Helivar for the rest of the day and the next. A short man in working clothes came by in the afternoon with a package. As he walked by he said, “We should go.” Nag Kath let him leave before following. 

The fellow took a route no one would use if they wanted to go from here to there. Nag Kath never got too close and watched for watchers. When the man reached his destination, he opened the door of a small home where none of the places across the alley had windows and waited for the Elf to catch-up. 

Inside the delivery-man walked to a pitcher of tea and said, “Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj wanted to thank you for the scarf.”

“It seemed the least I could do.”

The man handed him a mug and said, “My name, for our purposes, is Dourdhan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solvansh. Please, make yourself at home. We will be joined by another shortly. No reason to all arrive at the same time, is there?”

“Less crowded that way.”

Dourdhan took a chair ten feet away, not unlike the safe-house in Lhûg. The room had an oiled-paper window above street level and two candles waiting to be lit after the remaining sun. The fellow took a sip and said, “I am afraid you will have to do most of the talking, Mr. Solvansh. We were not expecting you.”

The Elf chuckled, “I find that often, Mr. Dourdhan.”

They sat in silence for only a few more minutes when Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj opened the unlocked door and locked it behind her. She looked at the visitor in better light and said, “Now I can put a face with the name. Thank you for coming, Mr. Solvansh.”

Dourdhan offered, “There is fresh tea, my dear.” She helped herself and sat to Nag Kath’s left. Letting her settle, the man added, “I was about to ask our guest his purpose.”

She took a sip and said to Nag Kath, “You asked me if I recognized those symbols. I still reserve my answer pending your reason for coming, sir.”

The Elf conceded, “That is entirely fair. I hunt and destroy remaining tools of the dark ones. They are represented by a great many things but I included the sigil of the Witch-King of Angmar. In my work I meet folk of like sentiments interested in creating better lives than the ones they inherited. They are symbolized by the opposite drawing.”

She handed Dourdhan the sheet and waited while the tall one added, “In Kugavod I found a ward of their founder used to contain foul servants beneath the ground. It includes his and two others which are ancient Rhûnic. I have found those before. That mosaic also included the cartouche which brought me here. Then, there is yours.”

“No secrets there, sir. That is Stámo.”

Nag Kath said, “The good one of the north is used by those who call themselves right-livers. From what I know now, it is no great leap to believe Orlo and Stámo are one and the same.” I made a drawing of him but he appears different to those few who have seen him. He has appeared only so often for thousands of years.”

The Elf thought carefully, “Forgive me, but you must know of Orlo. That is how I found you, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj.” 

“No, I have never heard of this person.”

Nag Kath said, “Then how did you know to send the healer Ventuub there?”

“Mr. Dourdhan suggested it.” She looked at him.

He shook his head, “Never heard of the girl.”

They were confused and more than a little concerned. That wasn’t the sort of mistake people like this make. The smile went to a chuckle to a Nag-Kath grin before he asked, “Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj, by any chance did he tell you that during the crescent moon in July?”

Not an easy woman to fluster, she said calmly, “I think it was summer.”

The Elf kept his grin, “Then, ma’am, you met Stámo.”

They talked quite a while without revealing anybody else’s identity. There were others in their society. Nag Kath explained he was looking for wards against more evil creatures and drew the warding spell on a new sheet. They knew of Pelargir. In that version there were four trolls. He told them about the lost country and the mithril band. They had never heard of Melkor. 

About the time he should leave, the Elf said, “It is possible that if there was such a beast here, he was released a thousand years after the ward in Rhûn was inlaid. We are looking for floor mosaics, probably circular. You could help me by discovering if there are any left, or if a fell creature sprang from nowhere in the city’s past. If those wards are here, they should stay that way. I have the power to sense them but I have to be very close. If they were broken, the threat is past.”

It was agreed that Mr. Dourdhan would be in touch. Nag Kath left first. On his way out he asked the formidable woman, “I hope your man wasn’t punished too harshly.”

“He was more talkative than usual. That is an interesting skill, Mr. Solvansh.”

____________------____________

They met three days later at Mr. Dourdhan’s home. Like the Righters in Thân zîrân, the property had been modified to get in and out by other than the front door. It was still largely Nag Kath’s responsibility to explain and he accepted that. He told them of the retreats without naming cities. She did not remember where she sent the healer. There was nothing like that here. They were their own version of Righters but without embracing the peace of lore and knowledge. Lake Nennûrad was an artery for troops coming up from northern Nûrad turning the corner directly into Mordor or further north to where Rohan is now. They had to be more militant because, unlike ancient Khand and Rhûn, the place changed hands often.

History explained; they got down to business on the wards. There was no lore of beasts besetting the town. There were no trolls or orcs in the central plains or deserts because there was nowhere to hide from long, bright sun. Nazgûl and powerful human servants saw to discipline if the Khandians didn’t. There had been an ornate mosaic though.

The next meeting was at a widow’s home. She was brought to her main room seated in a wheeled chair by an attendant who served tea and left. Mrs. Walash was quite elderly. 

Dourdhan was gentle, “Mrs. Walash, thank you for having us. Our guest is come from the north and interested in lore of our city. “Mr. Solvansh, can you explain what you seek?”

“Thank you, Mr. Dourdhan. Ma’am, I hope to find three symbols, probably on a floor but perhaps on a wall that hearken ancient times. Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj, have you shown her the drawing?”

Mrs. Walash said in a clear voice, “She tried, young man, but I do not see very well.”

The Elf reached in his satchel for one of Listracht’s fire-stones, “Perhaps this will aid.” He put it in her hand and said, “If you hold this near your best eye, the image will be larger.”

The old woman bent over and took the glass away from her face towards the drawing in her lap. It still took wavering back and forth but she grinned saying, “Yes, it is clearer now.” When she started to return the valuable object he told her to keep it with his compliments.

Her eyes and hearing were nearing the end of use but she still had all her wits. As Nag Kath had been taught, she started slowly and softly, “In the third month I will be ninety seven. I hope I have made a fair accounting of myself. When I was a girl there was such a marking. I cannot now remember the symbols but there were two or three, woven like these. 

“Life was difficult then. Surviving soldiers were not long returned from terrible war in the west. They fought among themselves for food and women. The Lord’s residence was sacked and abandoned for long years. Where his hall stood was a circle of fine stones like your picture.”

Nag Kath did not want to give her a clarity spell, but he did ask, “Your pardon, Mrs. Walash, may I draw another message for you to see?”

He make a large, quick sketch of the original Witch-King summons as drawn for the Pelargir pit before Orlo’s lads changed it around. She waited patiently and seemed to enjoy using her fire-glass saying, “This is my new eye, Mr. Solvanth.” She said it correctly. “No, I know this symbol in the middle. Soldiers bore it on their shields. That is one I will never forget.

“I was born the year after the bad soldiers left and only those of our esteemed Khagan were here.” She brightened, “When my sister and I were little, we would go with friends to the ruins and imagine we were fine ladies attending high courts of yore. There were imaginary musicians and dancers and singers reciting great tales as they attended us!" Mrs. Walash smiled sweetly, "Forgive me, children. My memories of then were fonder than my parents’. Then came the peace. The residence was rebuilt the year I married. I remember because I fancied being wed there. I do not know if the floor was covered because I have not been invited back to my princess court.”

The four enjoyed finger-foods with their tea leaving Mrs. Walash with fond memories and her new eye.

They returned to Mr. Dourdhan’s home which was only a five minute walk. Nag Kath went inside and put his hands on his hips, looking at the ceiling. It would have been better if the sweet old lady remembered a stinking hole in the floor. Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj said, “I have been in the palace. All of the floors have new slates. That is the Khan’s residence, though he is almost never here. His sons come every other year, or so.”

She looked at the Elf and cautioned, “If you are thinking of a midnight visit, it is always guarded.”

“That poses no problem. The risk is that the mosaic underneath is disturbed. With new stones over the top, we are that much the safer unless sorcery is used. Please, tell me of our friend the Khan.”

Dourdhan explained, “Khan Feddigh-Hoh is fifty-eight, sixth in his line after a distant uncle met his end in the Ghondor. Most of the land on the northwest bank of the lake is his personal property with a large lodge. Khanate holdings are his fief from the Khagan. The man has but one wife and two concubines, among them producing two sons and some daughters. His permanent home is Pashir. As Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj said, he is seldom here. I believe his health makes the journey difficult.”

That night the mansion had a guest. Hoping the new hall was on top of the last one, the intruder gently walked over it and poured a small skin of water in the middle of the room. With a wave of his silver hand, he saw the tell-tale green and black mist rise. A guard making his rounds at dawn stepped in the puddle. He looked up and would remember to have the steward check for leaks.

The next day Nag Kath told them, “It is the same cleft stick as in Rhûn; if the Khan believes me, he will probably have someone dig up the floor while his family is not here. I think you need to let sleeping dogs lie and hope one day we find what is keeping these creatures alive.”

Dourdhan muttered, “I am not sure I am glad I know.” He had a sip of tea, “But I am glad to hear that other lands are vigilant.”

Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj agreed, “Mr. Solvansh, you have seen more of the world than us. What do you make of the situation?”

“Sauron and his ring are legend. The Witch-King is dead but has left us two beast-pits, maybe more. I call that victory. Consider an embassy to the north, see how they do things. The retreats have long had a care for how to heal and live with one another now that the boot is off their necks.”

Dourdhan said, “There are always political matters, Mr. Solvansh.”

“The largest matter left, good sir. The Ghurs above know that game better than me. I will return through Pashir to advise them which way the wind blows in Khand of the lake.” 


	20. Outreach

**_Chapter 20_ **

**_Outreach_ **

An idea formed in his mind. Nag Kath rode around the west side of the lake again but this time he forded the first of the three rivers at the water's edge and rode two miles upstream along a fair wagon track towards a very grand compound that could only be the Khan’s hunting lodge. Behind the complex was at least another two miles before the ground reached dense forest – ten or twelve square miles to his surveyor’s eye, not including steeper grades into the mountains. It would not be approached from the west. Like Conath’s lodge, it was not built for defense. The northernmost river would dissuade cows, not fording riders. Tenant farmers along the lake had plots but the fields and pasture three hundred paces inland were fallow with no beasts put to graze. 

Reaching a low wall he he turned towards the rock and timber buildings and approached an open gate. Two guards came out of the lodge so he waited on the outside. The senior man said, “You are trespassing on the Khan Feddigh-Hoh’s land without leave. Go now.”

“My error, best of sirs. I was looking for the great hunt.”

The hunting here is for our Lord. On your way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

If the Righters, Stámöe in these parts, liked the northern model, this would make an ideal retreat. The other two communities had no reason to hide anymore. They were schools with no political interests and paid enough taxes not to muster levies. They were also large enough to defend themselves and always had a few repentant soldiers who knew the tip from the grip.

Making a purchase depended much more on the Khan than the price of farmland. He might be squeezed or have all the gold in Khand. He might have daughters to dower or sons to commission. Nag Kath did not know how much went to the Lord Khagan. 

One thing was for sure; Khans like diamonds. He would keep this under his hat until he got a better idea of how his suggestion to introduce the groups fared. Dourdhan and Zhurrag-Ledj thought an embassy was an excellent idea but she had never been on a horse in her life. He was in his sixties and not ready for three weeks in the wild each way. They told the Elf they needed to discuss it with their friends. 

It quickly emerged there were two senior men capable of the ride to Lhûg and speaking for them when they arrived. One of them felt it was a fine plan but was not willing to leave his family. Hemid Torlurn was a family man too, but owned a business with his brother who could see to things while he was away. If this was the last thing needed to honor his father's call to defy the darkness, he would see it through. He did not yet know that the most dangerous place in Nennûrad was eight blocks from his house. The top two Stámöe would keep that to themselves until they couldn’t. 

The four of them met at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s. One of her rooms could only be reached by a single corridor making it very private from listening servants. Torlurn said hello to his friends and that he would go to Lhûg when needed. He was thirty-eight and had been involved as his father had. Like most of these people, their children were not told until they were adults. They probably figured it out, but duties had been light for generations. 

With his proven ability to disrupt well-laid plans, Nag Kath unrolled a large map of the northwestern corner of the lake showing the rivers feeding in, roads and landmarks. This was novel here. In the west, generals often had huge maps and would move colored blocks on it to represent infantry, cavalry, enemy and artillery. The Elf asked, “Tell me about this section here” and pointed to the area he scouted.

Mr. Dourdhan said, “That land belongs to the Khan’s family. He has a home up there but his family stays here in the …” he caught himself before saying the warded beast-palace in front of Torlurn and substituted, “… in the town.”

The Elf held his chin and asked softly, “What can you tell me of the man?”

Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj was the keeper of facts. She explained, “In the every-other year call-up, Lord Feddigh-Hoh sent men to the south rather than gold. They send gold when they can. Soldiers are cheaper but conscripting them is unpopular. He is also considering the marriage of his second daughter to the second son of the Khan of Alagoth on our southern border. The lass is not favored in the way men like.” She suppressed a smile thinking of her bodyguard’s blathered tastes as he recovered from the confusion spell. “The second son will be, shall we say, honoring the family’s needs over his own. They will expect a commensurate dowry.”

“Do you have friends in Pashir?”

“We do.”

Knowing he could speak for the group, Dourdhan said, “Let Hemid Torlurn return with you to this place of lore and meet with our own kind there. He will tell us if it holds true to our ways. If so, we will consider the practical needs with time and clarity.”

Nag Kath looked at the Stámöe saying, “We can leave anytime taking the road to Pashir for a feel of the mood and then north. It is not much longer on good roads. Perhaps leisure in the capital of Khan Feddigh-Hoh III will make decisions easier on our return.”

Torlurn asked for a week to hug and hold. A quiet nipper in the family till was appreciated. On the third of November, they nudged their horses towards the northern peaks of the Harmal.

If he could bring Chûr to Hanvas Tûr, he could bring Hemid. The man was happily married with three children. His older boy already had responsibilities in the business and the girl would marry according to her parent’s wishes. Hemid Torlurn was small and spare with thick, short hair and a sparse beard, very Khandian in that sense. He only spoke that tongue, which was fine. Nag Kath had one look at his cart-horse and overpaid for another with proper tack and kit. 

For the first few days, the man said little. They were under some of the most astonishing peaks on earth and had to ford a few streams that reached their knees. By day three, Torlurn started to talk, mostly about his family. He had never been away from his wife for more than a week and now he was going far, perhaps for months. She did not understand why he had to go, only that he must. Halah would say prayers for his safe return at dawn and dusk when the Merciful Star, formerly the Dark Lord’s star, shined brighest.

Nag Kath shared bits and pieces of his life and what he knew of the world, staying away from magic, wizards and being immortal. The only magical creatures east of the Anduin were monsters to freeze the blood. Describing Mordor alone took a full day and well into the campfire time. Settling Nulvanash used hardly any of the Elf’s sorcery. Nag Kath could have had an hour of information to every minute of his companion’s but he listened carefully and encouraged the soft-spoken lake-man to share his tale.

This was the road connecting Nennûrad with the rest of the country. There were other riders, donkeys, people pulling two-wheeled wagons and many on foot. It was winter, the best time to travel. Temperatures were mild on level ground but very cold in the mountains. Here in northern shadow they wore coats most of the day. 

Four days after leaving they reached Illast Dûn. The scenic town had a number of second or third homes of wealthy Variags since it was in the first cool, green foothills for forty leagues from the central plains. The town was situated at the confluence of three small creeks that formed a river flowing west. 

The capital of Khan Feddigh-Hoh III was only three hours west on another small river feeding from the foothills. Pashir was a city of about eight thousand people. To the east, the creeks forming the river had fertile farms. Any town in this country had to be on water, hopefully, reliable water. This was. Nag Kath had explained he needed to know more about the capital and its ruler but he wasn’t ready to talk about a third retreat. So far, the southeastern Righters seemed fine folks and had separately opposed a common enemy. It remained to be seen if their peacetime ambitions aligned.

Hemid was not scholarly. He was a smart man with a strong sense of purpose and moral commitment. He was also more accepting of prevailing conditions than folk of the west. Nag Kath noticed that loitering in Nennûrad’s taverns and markets too. Men did not have discussions starting with; ‘what if’. Conditions were what they were unless changed so there was no reason to speculate if they were otherwise. Hemid liked to talk about his business of making and selling dyes. Reeds, flowers and vegetables ringing the lake could be reduced and blended to a wide variety of shades. His family gathered and prepared them for weavers, spinners and knitters to make the colorful clothing of their land. This trip might be the first time his hands were their natural hue since he was eight. Nag Kath knew a lot about that too so they fell back to paints when other topics lagged.

Hemid had never been here before but had been told how to reach Stámöe in the city. He was to chalk a circle in an alley with no windows. Nag Kath stayed behind him to make sure no one was following close enough to wonder the reason. The next day Hemid was to wear a red cap and have tea at the shop across from the Stele of the Conqueror at mid-day.

They individually booked separate rooms several doors apart at a good inn with a stable. Their evening meal was separate too so the Elf would watch for watchers. He did the same while Hemid was having tea the next day. The man had not trained like a field-Righter of the north but he did look like he was there for tea. From his perch on the other side of the monument the Elf didn’t see any obvious loitering. Someone would have to track the men in red caps since they didn’t know where he was staying. If no one contacted him, he was to try again in two days.

They weren’t used to this. Listracht would have written a code for the inn and room number rather than just a chalk mark after making sure the inn wasn’t ‘broken’. Then again, the Yvsuldors died sixty years ago. No one was watching anymore. Righters weren’t even watching each other.

The woman alone in an inn was not ideal either. They were generally there for professional reasons and she was not dressed for the part. At around forty, plainer clothes and carrying chamber pots would have worked better. Somehow, she knocked on the right door and spoke with Hemid for moment. They were to walk west from the inn at dusk and then follow a man with a limp. There seemed to be quite a few of those so he would hopefully be easy to select. He was. After a block, the limp went away but they kept their distance until he entered a tavern. The visitors from Nennûrad gave him a few minutes to settle and went in. Secrecy was over. He waved them to a table in the corner and stood to introduce himself. 

Pedregs was from the Listracht school of Rightness. About thirty with the same size and baldness, he already had a pitcher on order. In introductions, Nag Kath used his real name for the first time. If Hemid was surprised, he didn’t show it. Quiet until the ale arrived, Pedrigs took a good swallow and said, “Kath of the Trolls?”

“One and the same, best of sirs.”

“So you are immortal?”

“Thus far.”

“Good. What do you need here gentlemen?”

Hemid offered, “We make our way north where Mr. Kath knows others with similar views.”

Pedrigs had another sip and wiped his lips with his sleeve, “That makes sense. In all my years there has been a dividing line between the Khanates.”

Mr. Kath said, “I wonder that those of your calling may have been one before losses and distance divided. Hemid and I go there to see my friends.”

Pedrigs leaned over the little table more quietly, “All to the good. I am still not sure how I can help.”

The Elf replied, “It would help to better understand Khan Feddigh-Hoh’s relationship with his neighbors and his motivations.”

“Ah, Kath, it seems you have done quiet work too. This is not the place and there are others who know more than a humble traveling trader. Give me day to speak with them and leave your dinner hour open tomorrow.” He added in a voice suggesting now was the time, “Is there anything else I should share first?”

The Elf gave that a few moments thought and then took a small sheet of paper out of his pocket and sketched three wards in pencil. Pedrigs looked closely and put it in his pocket with a nod. “Look for me at tea before the high-meal.” 

______________-------______________

After drawing the beast wards it was time to tell Hemid. Nag Kath took a pull of his own ale and said, “Sir, this has had to wait, and I apologize for that.”

Hemid Torlurn was better than the Elf for keeping his Dukks face. He had a sip too and waited. Nag Kath confessed, “The symbol I gave our new friend is a ward against fell beasts of the Servant. It was laid over their hiding place by the sorcerer you know as Stámo. I have found two in the north. I came to Nennûrad to find another and did. One of the Gondor pits was disturbed by men. Trolls emerged to great mayhem. The other is newly found and remains a secret. So must yours.”

Hemid took another sip and said, “Do not apologize. We of my land faced terrible dangers for all of time. They are fewer. My fathers, and now me, tried to protect the land we love and do so now. Can you tell me of the ward in my home?

Nag Kath did, supposing it rather more protected under the Khan’s new floor than an abandoned hut. The immortal, which did not seem to bother Hemid either, said it had been there for at least fifteen centuries years. That was a good run.

Hemid stayed to the inn most of the day but Nag Kath did some strolling in the markets and around the palace grounds. Khan Feddigh-Hoh III lived well. This was a larger complex than in Lhûg with more people beetling about in his service. The walls were no stouter. Guards were sharp-eyed and rotated on an uneven schedule. Whether that was on purpose or not, one could not time the changes. These local rulers seemed much more concerned about assassination than force of arms.

It seemed to Nag Kath that he was having a lot of clandestine meetings in dark places. The days of massing troops against ferocious hosts were hopefully over. Now they had to worry about officious guardi thinking them subversive. Pedrigs led the pair to the front door of a nice home near the palace district. After thinking of the modest outpost in Nennûrad, this might be their Ghurate. It might also be a good way to see how far their influence stretched. There were Righters in Ûbésêsh before the Mordor war. Listracht had not said if any of their group was there now. Strange they should know so little about each other. 

Hemid and Nag Kath bowed to three people arranged comfortably on cushions. The guests took their places facing them with Pedrigs by the door. The new folk were an elderly gentleman in the middle, a man of about thirty to his left and a woman of about fifty on his right. There were no introductions and no one spoke for quite a while. 

Finally, the older man cleared his throat and spoke formally, “We are told you are come from northern lands in common purpose.” He was quiet long enough to make the visitors think they should respond. They didn’t and he continued, “We have known of such efforts but have kept our own council to not attract unwanted interest. Our friends in Nennûrad …” he gestured to Hemid; “… feel we should hear your tidings and we agreed. Please proceed.”

Nag Kath said, “I seek and destroy remnants of Sauron. I occasionally meet those who have long resisted his servants. Their view is that men must not take what is not theirs. I believe, and am closer to confirming, that their sorcerer is also yours in a different guise. The northern branch of the family has long offered lore and healing as dark threats lessen. Mr. Torlurn is going to see for himself.”

The woman asked Nag Kath, “Are you of the council in that place?”

“No ma’am. They are looking to the future. I am of the past, which I will share in a moment.”

The older man inquired, “Mr. Torlurn, you are known to us here. Is it your choice to go there?”

“I volunteered, revered sir. Mr. Kath said we would take our rest there for a month and then I will return to my family.”

The woman looked at the other two faces closely before saying, “We will consider that presently. Mr. Kath, let us speak of the past.”

The Elf looked at the eyes as well and started deliberately, “Sauron and his most powerful servant left pits seeded with foul creatures awaiting their summons. I found three that had been warded with counter-spells by the sorcerer I know as Orlo at least a thousand years ago. One was disturbed by men to great calamity in Gondor. The next I found this spring in Rhûn. That ward included a clue to come here and last week I found a third in Nennûrad.”

Pedrigs offered, “The first was the troll-slaying, ma’am.”

She confirmed, “On the Great River?” He nodded. Turning to Nag Kath she asked, “Are they all warded?”

“I do not know. Many more have already been opened. I imagine others malinger.”

The senior man looked at him very closely and asked, “And how do you know this, young man?”

“I have some of the same powers, sir.”

The younger man finally spoke, “Terrible things, yes, but why so few and scattered?”

Nag Kath thought a moment before replying, “I am supposing here, but the ones found so far have all been in cities that changed hands many times during the long war, and all near the ruler’s quarters. I believe these were for assassination. If the resident lord was opposed to Sauron, or even less enthusiastic than a chosen man, the Angmarach had but to close his hand and bring them forth.

“Orlo, Stámo if you will, would not have found or been able to get them all, and probably did not want to. He may have released a few himself when those areas were controlled by Sauron’s followers. For all I know, the Khagan’s throne is over monsters that wait even now. I remember his floors covered with mosaics.”

The old man seemed very concerned about what he had taken to be a beardless northerner. The woman was more practical, “Mr. Kath, is that why you come now?”

“In part, ma’am. I seek to find and prevent their release, but my primary reason is to discover the source of power that keeps them alive long after the One Ring. Great graveyards of soldiers, many from your lands, remain undead, waiting like the pit beasts for their summons. Someone will eventually have the power to claim them.”

The old man looked Nag Kath sternly in the eyes and demanded, “And you do not seek to be among them?!”

“I already have been, sir.”

That froze them for a moment. The younger man recovered first, “What can we do to assist, Mr. Kath?”

“I would like to know more of your Khan. The pit in Nennûrad is under his great hall. I would not see him killed but I would not see him uncover it to the peril of our friends there. Mr. Torlurn and I will stay a few days and then make for Lhûg to consult with folk like you.”

The three Ghurs, looked at each other first and then the old man spoke, “What in particular do you want to know about Khan Feddigh-Hoh III?”

“His finances, sir.”

They must have been expecting him to say; troops or devils. The woman closed the discussion, “I think we can manage that. Mr. Pedrigs remains your contact. We may want to speak again, sirs.”

_____________------____________

On the way back to the inn, Pedrigs chuckled, “You fooled me, Mr. Kath. I thought you a young buck fighting for ideals.”

“In my youth. They seemed terribly serious. Does this local Khan actually care what you do?”

“No.”

“I only ask because you aren’t causing trouble. If there those agitating for the old days, that is another matter. I dealt with a sorcerer in Mordor trying to make himself the next Witch-King. He had a ring of power, bad combination.”

“That was you too? Good work. Yes, we know all about the Yvsuldor here.”

Hemid was listening to every word. Nag Kath mused, “I should imagine the Visitors were not warmly embraced after the purge.”

Pedrigs smirked, “Warmer than they liked.”

“Are there any who now claim that mantle?”

“Not here. A bird told me that some in the capital wish for that. The Khagan discourages them but does not silence them. Probably it is better to know the source than to guess.”

Nag Kath set a new tone, “See here, Mr. Pedrigs. The world is changed. Outside of a few old trolls, the fight is within us now. Unless Hemid here is picky, perhaps one of your flock should come with us …” he grinned, “… give us something to eat when goblins are scarce.”

“I thought that myself. In the meantime, watch for a note about money.”

At dinner that night, Hemid was quiet but not nervous. He suspected Mr. Solvanth was more than put forth. That would make for a safer trip and return to those he loved. He prayed no one would destroy the Khan’s nice floor.

The note arrived the next morning. Mr. Kath was to go to an address not far from yesterday’s meeting at the hour after the mid-day meal. It was a tavern. The Elf had tea and left his money on the table against a quick exit. During the meal, a young woman approached him and said, “Please come with me, best of sirs.”

She led him silently to another very nice home in the other direction and opened the door herself. As he was gawking, the woman said, “This way, please.” They went through a large room to a smaller office where his female questioner was sitting on one of the tall cushions at a low desk. 

She looked up and said, “Good of you to come. Dear, please see if cook has tea.” Then she waved her hand at the pillows across from her. The young woman was gone and back almost before he sat. She poured from a pot into two small cups.

The older woman said, “Thank you, my dear.” After the lass left she said to him, “I am Felishde, Mr. Kath. I am sorry for the harshness of our questions yesterday.”

“I have suffered worse, kind lady.”

“So, the Khan’s money? Can you be more specific?”

The Elf said, “Let me start with my intention. I am interested in purchasing some of his land near Nennûrad for our shared purpose. With other than a prince, that is a matter of price. But princes need other things. I hope to learn what he wants.”

Felishda had a sip and summarized, “The Khanate is strong with a permanent army of two thousand and militias of twice that. Five hundred of the army and five more of the militia were sent south two season ago for four years in service to our honored Khagan. For many years before, Khan Feddigh-Hoh sent the tax instead to pay for levies nearer the Swertings. 

“His crop taxes have been only fair this year and last owing to a blight on gureeq and oats. His family also considers a union between second daughter and the second son of the Khan to our south. A dowry will be expected.” That confirmed what Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj implied at the lake but didn’t suggest the man was strapped beyond what most rulers face. Fair crops are better than no crops. No one seemed in rebellion. 

She then offered the barest hint of a smile, “There is some difficulty with our Excellency’s older daughter.” The woman adjusted her position slightly, the unmistakable sign of intrigue. “She is married to the Khagan’s wife’s brother. It is said that his habits are ... irregular. In his wisdom, the Khagan limits payments when he is displeased and it falls to our esteemed Khan to maintain his daughter’s standard of living since she is kin to the Khagan. The noble Khan is not pleased either, but cannot cast them adrift to reflect poorly on the great ruler.

“Is that the sort of knowledge you seek, sir knight?”

“Yes.” He took a sip and asked, “How does the elder daughter view things?”

“She is no better pleased than the Khagan or the Khan without an heir to show for the union. Mr. Kath, are you considering removing their problem?”

“No, I want them to remain miserable with the Queen in favor. Why such difficult matches?”

She considered the wisdom there and said without judgment, “His Excellency’s line throws manly lads. Daughters fare less well. The girl’s husband was not the first to darken her door. Her husband took her and payment with proclamations of maidenhood. Those payments never stopped. You see our poor Khan’s dilemma, sir.”

Nag Kath nodded but didn’t see. In his experience; your stand-up Variag would have incinerated the man as a lesson to the lot. She said nothing about furtherance of any sort of right-living. Their group didn’t seem interested in contemplation. They hadn’t actually said what they were interested in, here or in Nennûrad. He was interested in buying the land so he commiserated, “A difficult position, ma’am. Without betraying any secrets, does the noble family still use their palace or hunting lodge on the lake?”

“His Excellency has not traveled there for some time. His second son hunts every other year or stays in the family apartments.”

The Elf thought they were a deal nicer than apartments if you could get past trolls in the basement. All smiles, he asked, “And the heir?”

“He stays here, except for trips with his wife and children to homes in Illast Dûn, a dutiful and loyal son.”

“Mrs. Felishda, I may need a discreet word with Khan Feddigh-Hoh III when I return. Do you have friends of friends who can arrange that?”

Felishda said regally, “We have any number of friends, Mr. Kath.”

She knew things that could get her killed if the Elf was interrogated. The local Khan might grit his teeth to spare his shared in-law. He would not be as tolerant with the Stámöe. The Elf rose and thanked her for her courtesy and courage.

One thing was certain, diamonds were in the offing. Small and private, the little rocks would not be reported by the seller on the Khagan’s clacker. The Khan wouldn’t miss the place by the lake. First Nag Kath would take the earnest Stámöe to the Hanvas retreat and see how that went.

_______________------______________

The next morning Pedrigs was waiting in front of the inn. They followed him to one of a dozen tea houses in the market district. After being served, the man asked, “Productive trip?”

Torlurn offered, “Informative.”

Nag Kath confirmed, “I believe so. I do not need to know the reach of the Stámöe, but please look for those symbols, or places where they might have been. 

Pedrigs considered that and said, “We will, but not too loudly. It is hard to seem interested without others getting interested. I have asked among friends who might travel with you. One may be available but I will not know until tomorrow. When must you leave?”

Torlurn answered, “When we know. This is a journey that cannot be rushed.”

“Wisely put, best of sirs.”

Nag Kath leaned back and stroked his chin before saying, “There is one more thing I would ask of you, my friend. Please tell me the Stámöe’s vision for our new world.”

“I wish I could. We have so long fought and resisted and toiled that we never thought it would be through. That is why I hope one of us will see what the northerners are making of their peace. You will know at first light.”

Torlurn was content. He missed his wife and children. He blessed them in his heart and offered prayer when the star shone down first among the many above. But he was ready for new things. Like Orlo intended, he had what little Nûradi blood escaped the Pelennor. If those lands below the desert were ever reclaimed, it must be done in new ways. They saw a comedy play that night and the Righter slept well.

As promised, Pedrigs was sitting by the fountain four buildings down from the inn. Nag Kath and Hemid saw him looking north and collected their horses thinking to wish him well on their way. As they rode up, Hemid said, “It is a hard thing to ask someone to leave. I wrestle with that each day.”

Pedrigs stood and stretched, “I could not have said it better myself. I spoke to my wife and we agreed that it was time for me to do as you have done Mr. Torlurn. My horse is at the end of the block. I hope one of you can cook.” 


	21. Perilous Consultations

**_Chapter 21_ **

**_Perilous Consultations_ **

One hundred years without Sauron had produced no new roads. Getting to Lhûg from here was about the same distance as from Nennûrad. The first leg was forty leagues and would take them to the town leading from Mordor where Idgshtok discovered wine and dancing women. The road was fair, it was not hot and as with every year since Nag Kath first came here, there was more water, new streams, larger streams, sometimes small ponds. Merchant traffic was thin. Traders of Khand mostly stayed to the corridors along the east or west mountain ranges. This was the Gap of Khand; not famously hospitable.

The three men traveled well together. Nag Kath wished he could have gotten a fresher mount for Pedrigs. They would not have been easy to come by, but his old mare determined the pace. Nemren was no youngster but born to run. There were no inns. The rain season would not start until spring but no one explained that to a thunderstorm pelting small hail on them sideways. They rode through it and arrived in Laghiri Ôrath at the end of day six. There was an inn there since anyone going to modern Nûrnen from the north or east crossed this junction. They had ale and the men bought mutton stew. Their guide ate his little yellow crackers.

The next day should put them at Nebûriha. Ground opened with forests to the north with streams large enough for fish. Three men waiting for them had other ideas about fishing. They were slowly riding towards the Righters. The approaching horsemen had no packs other than their traveling kits. Both groups looked like hard men. People got out of the Righters’ way for that. On this long, straight stretch of road they had reached the point where forests after Sauron flourished with enough water to reach their roots. And in the trees to the left, Elf eyes saw movement. At the two parties' current rates of speed, they would pass each other at the nearest copse of pines, shades of leaving Tharbad.

Nag Kath murmured, “Pedrigs, get your bow to hand.” Torlurn trained in the Nennûrad militia but never swung his sword in anger. Pedrigs had been in one of the Pashir call-ups to serve the Khagan along the Harad border, their army’s hard school. That experience made him ‘Eyes’ for the Stámöe.

Pedrigs slid his bow off his shoulder with little motion. Nag Kath said without turning his head, “Horsemen or archers to the left. If we hold, the riders will have to pass them before they reach us." He pulled his bow and put three arrows in the same hand. If the approaching riders were honest, they would be in danger from the lads hiding in the woods. If they weren’t honest, they worked together. The Elf whispered, “They are slowing. It might mean the men in the copse are mounting to join them. Do you see the two large rocks to our right, about fifty paces?”

They both said, “Aye.”

“We walk there until they move, then we run. Pedrigs, you get behind the far boulder. I’ll take the near. Hemid, you get behind one of us. Let us go.”

The horses lazily clopped off the road into the wispy grass. They got half way there before the three riders dug in their spurs and five more emerged from the trees. Reaching the rocks, Nag Kath and Pedrigs dismounted and nocked arrows while Torlurn held the reins. When Nag Kath figured they were fifty paces away he broke cover and put three arrows at the group as they combined from different directions. The first caught a horse in the chest to the feathers. He dropped and threw his rider over the top. The second missed. The third took a man in the gut. 

Pedrigs broke his cover as well. Good archers had the advantage. The bandits were not used to experienced military bowmen on their road and probably expected them to run rather than stand. Pedrigs missed his target but grazed the horse behind it enough to break its stride and start shying in pain. By then, Nag Kath was out again and put his next arrow through that rider's thigh and well into the horse’s flesh. The shot did not drop either of them but the horse was terrified and his rider was staked to him until the arrow broke. 

Pedrigs next shot caught a horse in the foreleg. She did go down and at a full run, rolled over her rider. They were close enough now that Nag Kath put arrows into one man’s forehead and another’s shoulder. 

With all the screaming horses and shouting men, Pedrig’s horse shied from the shadow of the rock. As Torlurn stepped out to pull her back, one of the unhorsed men put an arrow through the front of his neck and out the side. Moments later, their attackers had enough and whistled the retreat. Nag Kath’s last shot took the unhorsed archer through both buttock cheeks from the side. He screamed and tried to run eight inches at a step. The man with the arrow holding him to his mad horse could not have stopped if he wanted to and the wounded man could not halt any of the terrified steeds even if he could remount. 

Pedrigs hissed, “Nag Kath, get over here.”

Torlurn was bleeding profusely but the arrow had somehow missed his spine. He was alert. It would not be a fatal injury unless infection set in. The Elf remembered the poisoned arrows of the Greyflood. Pedrigs nocked another arrow and watched for movement ahead while Nag Kath sat Hemid against the back of the rock telling the man, “This is going to hurt.”

“Go ... oo ... od. Worry when it doesn’t.”

“I am going to leave that arrow in until we make sure these lads are dead because it needs my full attention. Do not try to take it out yourself, understand?”

The man used as little nod as he could. With that, the Elf and Righter broke cover and crouched into the field. All the nearby men were dead or dying except the one pretending with an arrow through his arse. Pedrigs gave him a quick kick causing a blood-curdling scream and chuckled, “Nag, got one for you.” 

The Elf ran over and said, “We’ll ask him a few questions.” With that, he dragged the man on his stomach by his hair back to the larger rock and left him with the arrowhead coming out one side and the feathers on the other. Pedrigs grabbed the reins of a mare nosing the raider shot in the face. The Elf collected his little medicine bag and knelt by Torlurn who had done as told. Hemid’s hands were trembling and he had wet himself but his eyes were open. 

“Hemid, old friend, I am going to cut one end of that arrow off and pull it through the other side. As soon as I do, I am going to put a cloth up hard against each side to see what else comes out.” Torlurn blinked his eyes in understanding.

Using his nippers, the Elf gently cut the feathered end close to the neck. No one saw him pull the other side or slap cloth against both wounds. The man clenched his teeth, hands and eyes but did not lose consciousness. Nag Kath slowly took the cloth away and saw only normal bleeding. Had the arrowhead gone in with the edges side-to-side, it would have cut the artery. It still nicked his windpipe and blood was coming into his mouth. His physician gently touched the wounds with silver followed by an ointment in his bag. Then he bound the pads with a length of gauze around his neck.

Hemid offered the barest grin and murmured, “Let us see what our new friend has to say.” 

Their captive left his face in the dirt and groaned but had not said a word. Nag Kath asked him, “What’s your name?”

When he forgot, Pedrigs stepped on one cheek to a curdling scream and said smoothly, “The man asked politely.”

“Ngauhhh! Ardushk!”

Nag Kath knelt next to his head and said, “That’s a fine, lovely Mordor name, Studray, I should think.” Silence. He looked at Pedrigs to adjust his footrest.

“Raughhhh!!! Cardugh.”

“Just as nice. How many more back in those trees?”

Pedrigs shifting in the gravel was enough this time, “Eight.”

Pedrigs wondered, “Are they still close?”

“No. Camp is five miles in. Nghhh! You will not find them.”

Nag Kath pulled the arrow out by the head without removing the feathers. That brought a scream louder than the others combined. The Elf growled, “If you can walk, you can leave.” The bandit groaned but pushed himself up trying not to bend at the hip. It cannot be done. On the second try he bent with a grimace until he stood and took mincing little steps on the longest walk of his life, five miles if he wasn’t lying. 

Many men would have exacted their revenge. Pedrigs understood that if his mates didn’t kill him or let him fester, they would be that much slower coming back. He had to walk past the groaning raider who was gut-shot. Watching the bandit waddle up the slope, Pedrigs muttered, “I would give a month’s pay to hear his new nickname.” With that he nodded at the Elf as if to say it was time to get their man on a horse and make for Nebûriha. 

At a walking pace, that was another three hours. Hemid could hold his own reins with one or the others alongside. The bandage was red on both wounds but not getting redder. Even at this speed they passed several people leading donkeys who stared at the wounded Stámöe and the reassuring tall man. 

____________--------____________

In sixty years the place had done well. There were three inns. They chose the freshest paint and took Turlurn upstairs right away. Nag Kath undressed him and got him into a very lumpy straw bed while Pedrigs unsaddled the horses. He would ask the local guardi about their assailants when their man was attended. Back upstairs, he was astounded. 

Nag Kath removed the bandage and examined the wounds. The side barb slices were clean but the shaft holes would need time to heal. Pedrigs had seen such wounds. He watched the tall, blonde soldier’s hands turn silver and glow like sun on swords! Hemid’s neck was yellow! That went on about thirty seconds until Nag Kath removed his hands and the colors faded.

Then, as if he had done no more than put a kettle on the stove, he looked at Pedrigs and said, “There was no poison. I will keep watching for infection. Do they have food here?”

A spell put Hemid fast asleep for hours. Pedrigs watched Nag Kath wave his hand across their door and they went downstairs with the feathered end of the orcish arrow that took Torlurn. Khand doesn’t have guardi like in the west. They have varying qualities of soldiers, around here, not their best. Two of them were lolling by the county building when the Righters walked over. Nag Kath explained, “We were attacked by a band of eight riders three hours east. A man of our company was wounded. One bandit was from Cardugh and shot this arrow.” He handed it to the closest trooper. “Do you recognize it, best of sirs?”

“That is not our district. What do you expect us to do?”

Pedrigs watched his companion seem to grow two feet taller and growl, “I expect you to be fat and stupid.” A beam of light left his hand into the faces of the soldiers as he added, “What you will do is tell me who these men are.”

The other man said in a daze, “Nûrnen raiders. They come up the Vhilias Road and hide in the trees.”

“And what are you doing about that?”

“Nothing.”

Nag Kath said more gently, “There are five groats in your pocket. Go to the tavern on the east side and drink until it is spent.”

The two walked off in the other direction without looking back.

The Elf muttered, “Let us see if we can get Hemid to eat something.”

_____________-------____________

They stayed three days. On each of them, Pedrigs watched the blonde Righter hold his hands to both wounds and glow. By the time they left, Turlurn did not need bandages. He would carry the scars but they were no longer wounds. From here they followed a fair sized creek forty leagues to Lhûg. There were no inns and it rained two days ceaselessly, but after a week without pushing and Pedrigs on a stronger horse, they arrived at the school not long before the dinner hour.

As usual, Nag Kath slammed his palm into the door. Mrs. Puluogh peeked out and said, “Oh, sir.” She opened it wide and the three weary travelers stamped in with their bags after having left the horses tied to the stable rails. The Elf said to the cook, “Mrs. Puluogh, these fellows will be staying for dinner and to sleep tonight at least. Can you attend that?”

“Right away, best of sirs.” Not wanting to say the wrong name, she added, “The other gentleman should be along shortly, sir.” With that she took her basket back to the market to see if the fish were still good.

There was ale in the demi-cask and it went down smoothly. Before the first mug was drained, Nag Kath heard boots outside trying to be quiet. He yelled out the window, “It is me. Come meet my new friends.”

Listracht opened the door and gawked at the three travelers sprawled on the couch and chair. He walked in slowly, not too lame. All three rose and Nag Kath gave him a hug that always unnerves Khandians, especially ones from the south. They had been warned their host was a barbarian and who knew what Nag Kath was? "Listracht, these are Pedrigs from Pashir and Hemid from Nennûrad and oh, do we have a tale for you!”

Dinner lasted hours. Pedrigs and Listracht had the same position in their respective bands and were best friends before the cask was gone. Torlurn was more reserved, as always, but enjoyed himself more than he probably ever had. He got the honor of explaining how the tall one pulled the arrow out of the bandit and made him walk home.

There were a lot of things the Righters would talk about later and both knew that. It was not really a slip, but Listracht did say, “The Elf has more stories than any I know.” Nag Kath thought nothing of it but both of the other men stared as if noticing for the first time that he looked thirty yet talked about things twice that long ago. Elves were as mythical as dragons around here.

Nag Kath let Torlurn have his bed. Pedrigs got the couch. Listracht snored all night in his room. They were up early when Mrs. Puluogh arrived to make tea and porridge. The Elf and Righter walked outside with their mugs. In the way he usually did, Nag Kath looked straight forward and said, “I brought them to see Hanvas Tûr. They have been fighting for Orlo by a different name for two thousand years and don’t know what to do next. I won’t take them without the Ghurs permission, but I intend to get it. The time for small, secret bands is past.”

Listracht looked the same direction, “Just go. You have taken their measure. The Ghurs and Ghuldieg need to know about that troll-pit.” He took a sip and smiled, “There is something else, Elf. I know you.”

“I need a few more pieces, but you are going to love it.”

As they turned to go inside Listracht groused, “As much as I loved saddle sores, no doubt.” 

It took another day to get organized. Pedrigs kept the bandit horse. Nag Kath explained how he got Vandery many years before. The Elf gave Torlurn more care and checked Listracht’s leg. His knee-graft was holding. The school was actually clean. 

Morning found all four riding to the retreat. Listracht rode well. He punched extra holes in the brace straps so he could loosen them while mounted. When they arrived, Nag Kath and the two guests sat in the grass along the road while Listracht went in the office to explain. That took long enough that the Pashir men might have been nervous about their reception. In the meantime, they watched people, some waving but attending their business.

After half a bell, Listracht walked out with Ghuldieg who introduced himself with a bow rather than the overly-familiar handshake of the barbarian Rhûns and sat in the grass with them. “You are welcome to Hanvas Tûr with full courtesies extended. The council has to be notified but is mostly here and, I am sure, will look forward to this. In the meantime, let us take nourishment and hear of your journey.”

The three ‘Eyes’ dominated the conversation. Hemid listened with the Elf who silently prayed he would not become Kath of the Arse Arrow. Their meal lasted until Ghuldieg heard a gong that the Ghurs were gathered. Listracht would have given the person on duty the gist of the situation. Five of the seven were there and two of the important staff. 

They went two bells discussing comparative right-living knowing the pits would be covered separately with the security folk. Towards the end, Torlurn opened-up. He was an equivalent Ghur in Nennûrad with a care for family upbringing, so the man would find plenty of activities and like-minded folk. Mr. Tielu was asked to show the new people around, knowing the Elf and Listracht would be busy much of the next few days with internal business. He took the Stámöe to one of the afternoon Sayings when the Righters went back to talk about trolls.

There wasn’t that much more to say. Nag Kath found another ward where Orlo said it would be. There was nothing they could do about it. If clues were revealed at each new site, the next was under the Khan’s floor and they couldn’t do anything about that either. Their opposite numbers were of the same opinion. The Elf would not be a bit surprised if the Khagan had beasts waiting in low places too. Those lands had always been strong allies to Sauron, but that would not have kept the Yvsuldor from putting in a pit against a coup. It would be unwarded.

The larger picture was political. Their Khan was a known commodity. The southern man was not. It would have to be made plain to the Khagan that increased contact between the formerly independent groups was not a conspiracy against his divine rule. 

Nag Kath had that in mind when he introduced his radical concept, “Sirs and ladies, would like to speak to the central Ghurate in Pashir and their branch in Nennûrad about buying the Khan’s lodge property at the lake and making it a third retreat. It is perfect in size and location with a population ready for such learning and healing. I also think it can be had in a way that rewards both the Khan and Khagan for their gracious support ... the Khan here too.”

The Elf would tell you he never had an original idea in his life. Things he tried without duress always had one tested component. This was the same, but since his experience was so different than men, they were always stunned with the audacity. Who wouldn’t spend a fortune in diamonds to help people he never met? His view was that he couldn’t do anything else with them so why not?

The guests could spend as much time as they wanted but since they were family men, that wasn’t expected to be more than a month. Nag Kath and Listracht were not of the retreats and planned to return to Lhûg after a few days so as not to distract them. They would be back in a month or sooner for what came of this. 

The Ghurs were all astonished about Stámo. Was that his name in Chey? It was a bit like finding Thân zîrân past the end of the world. Both organizations were so secret and held to their own turf so diligently that they were almost on top of each other. Pedrigs suggested Orlo wanted it that way so the fall of one would not lead to the other. Others like them had been lost when the Yvsuldors got wind. In Righter minds, it also emphasized they had won the war. If they were to remain relevant, it had to be in fair-living rather than sabotage.

As they were closing the second meeting, Nag Kath said, “Some of this depends on the physical healers. They are on the southern bank of the lake. Orlo sent Ventuub here himself.” That caused a gentle uproar before he told the story. Then he continued, “I only met him once, sixty years ago, but he was in Nennûrad just eight years past. Those women don’t know that. He had purpose for them and to help us here. I believe he sent Nenwula too. A haven would grant them a permanent place for those skills in both lands if politics get sticky.” 

They agreed it was worth pursuing. The Stámöe could do whatever they wanted. The question here was; how much could the northern Ghurates help? They should send folk down and vise versa for training without demands. Documents should be copied since the southern folk had almost none of the written lore the northerners had so carefully stolen since the fall of Sauron. Field Righters would have to widen their loop. That was all to the good since this lot still had ‘Eyes’ in the capital not that far away. 

This made the Elf seem even queerer. Like Orlo, he appeared every so often, the first time to drive reconstituted Visitors from Rhûn and shortly after, destroy them in Mordor. He found the troll-pits and now long-lost cousins in their own country. Orlo seemed to think he needed someone like Nag Kath but he also feared lieutenants misusing the foul gleanings of darkness. Nag Kath had never claimed leadership or demanded fealty. It was hard to imagine he spent the generations in-between building sluices and burping grand-babies.

Before the evening meal, Nag Kath walked down to the healing area. Nenwûla was sitting on her large chair outside taking the last of the sun. He said hello and Ventuub came outside with a patient just leaving. He would not tell them of discussions of the Ghurs but he did say he had visited the Nûradi school and gave the ladies Ventuub’s best wishes. She was delighted and asked of her friends, including Miss Veintshu who replaced her in Nennûrad. Nag Kath did say the woman somehow knocked grit off two of the bones and they took that under advisement. He would visit them again before he left and walked back to the office thinking he was so much the better for knowing these marvelous women. They should be protected. 

Over the next few days, Torlurn and Pedrigs went to every meeting, discussion and meal they could. People came and went here so there was no awkward adjustment period. Their accents were closer to local than not. Torlurn especially enjoyed the Sayers and Poets. Pedrigs liked lore. They were not always together, by design, and Pedrigs also spent more time with Listracht and sometimes Ghuldieg on the craft of lurking, things like using a code for the room number instead of the plain mark and sending a lad or old person rather than a woman of an age where men would pay attention. Pedrigs had some good secrets in that realm too so these were worthwhile sessions. 

By the time Listracht and Nag Kath made for town, everyone was sure there would be a permanent bond between the two groups. The neighboring Khans had a working relationship on their uncontentious border since it was established specifically where nothing was worth fighting over. There would be a lot more to come but much depended on Nag Kath’s conversation with Khan Feddigh-Hoh III. It was time to deliver on a hint dropped with his father's revered partner.

On the trail, Listracht did not say much but never stopped grinning. He had to remember to tighten his brace straps before dismounting. Mrs. Puluogh was scrubbing some new corner of grime. The frugal Listracht was browbeaten into spending a little of his gold for a better cook-stove, carpets and paint. Since he would be here a while, Nag Kath ordered glass windows to replace the oiled paper ones that were leaking anyway. The stable needed work. Pedrigs retired his old mare to grass at the retreat rather than leaving her here to eat fodder.

The Righter made noises about having his knee tended but knew it helped and didn’t hurt as much as he whined. They had Nenambuul over for dinner. There were secrets they could not share but the trip and the cities provided plenty of conversations. Listracht still felt the man was a natural adherent when he chose.

Spring is the rainy season here so much of the time was spent indoors. The month passed slowly. Nag Kath did have dinner with the other half of Chûr's beautiful grand-daughters. There was no word that they should return to Hanvas early so Listracht concentrated on keeping his ear to comings and goings. As soon as it was reasonable for northern merchants to arrive, the Elf asked for an interview with Mr. Chanbhough which was set for the next day.

After greetings and tea, Nag Kath told the head of Chanbhough Kultan that he had only been able to get a few of the stones. His dear friend had the first right of refusal. On the first transaction, two of three potential owners had gotten a diamond. One was Mr. Chanbhough. Khan Súlën-Doth would have had the second in his hand but probably sent it to Ûbésêsh in lieu of cash taxes. The next to arrive was his. Mr. Solvanth’s new offerings included one of the size he already bought, another about twice that and the third was about half an inch around, cut so it reflected from both sides of an open mounting. Khandian jewelers could do justice to the fitting just as one had done such a superb job with the false Dwarf ring. 

Chanbhough looked at it with his treasured fire-stone, which the northern trader also had in stock. Listracht kept a hundred of the trade glasses from the southern voyage making sure one would reach his Excellency. 

Small, medium and large was by design. Khan Sumen-Doth of Lhûg would certainly get the big one if he wanted it but it would probably go a long way in satisfying his troop levy for next year with the Khagan. Nag Kath said it would bring twenty Florin in Gondor, which it would. At four and eight for the smaller stones, that was thirty-two to the merchant. He had the cash but wanted to be sure the Khan was interested. 

Putting himself in the merchant’s mind, Nag Kath thought that a modest mark-up on the big stone paid for the two smaller ones with demand having been created among other wealthy citizens over a winter of lust. He could probably get double his price for the two smaller stones putting him eight Florin to the good with little risk, depending on demand for the big jewel. The portly merchant would do that every day of the week. 

That afternoon, Chanbhough asked for a brief word with his Excellency and it was granted for the very next morning after staff meetings. Two hours later, the same senior clerk came to the school to say the terms were acceptable. Nag Kath returned with him and did the deal.

He didn’t need the money. The object was that it would be impossible for the southern Khan not to learn about the large rock his neighbor had acquired since one of the five would be ceremoniously sent to his Excellency the Khagan. Listracht would make sure of that. Nag Kath sometimes made things more complicated than they had to be, but he looked at this as creating options. Like in Mordor, he had a plan for however a handful of variables played. In this case; if a direct approach to Khan Feddigh-Hoh III was inadvisable, the northern Khan could buy the property for a trusted scholar at a price that was sure to be irresistible and look good in the doing. 

Seeds sown, the Righters returned to Hanvas. Both of the Stámöe were ready for home and family but had a good experience in the retreat. The Ghurate decided to assist and sent their decision to Rhûn. They would make copies of records over the next few years so the third retreat had them for study and as spares against losing one ghurate. It all depended on Nag Kath’s negotiating skills. 

It was time to test them.


	22. Nennûrad Tudj

**_Chapter 22_ **

**_Nennûrad Tudj_ **

The Righters returned the way they came, joining a train of spring merchants. Everyone was wall-eyed to the right where the forest neared the trail. Getting past the two rocks was worth a demi-cask for their fellow travelers that night. Nag Kath had a new batch of false-Lembas baked against hardship and mutton stew. He needed it.

They made Pashir wet but on schedule. Pedrigs went to his family, who he almost never mentioned, while the other two took rooms in their same inn. The next day started the next phase.

The Stámöe met first without the Elf for a candid assessment of their northern brethren. Two men of the Rhûnic retreat were at Hanvas during Pedrigs and Hemid's stay and explained the similarities and differences between the two havens. The two waited to let Nag Kath broach his idea for another retreat when he was called in that afternoon. The Stámöe asked intelligent questions and would discuss it privately. The Nennûrad contingent would have to agree. If a trip to Ûbésêsh was in the offing; that should be done before it got hot on the central plain. 

They took two days to discuss matters. Turlurn was in on about half of those and did not discuss them with Nag Kath. He was a quiet man anyway and being so close to his family occupied his thoughts. At the end of the second day, Pedrigs told the Elf to come to Mrs. Feldishda’s home. They asked several more questions and with a nod among them, agreed to proceed. It was time to approach Khan Feddigh-Hoh III with a proposal.

The noble daughter’s marriage was causing even more tension. Her husband was briefly arrested outside a pleasure house when he was too drunk to remember he was above such indignity. The man was released as soon as he woke up, but the Khan was reportedly furious, not so much by what his son-in-law did but that he got caught so indelicately. Promises of sobriety and rediscovered troth kept the woman from moving home. They had not been seen out together since.

Marital discord was music to Nag Kath’s pointy ears. Mrs. Felishda was as good as her word. A noble and respected member of the court was not of their order, but he was a reasonable man and had not received favor from his father’s estate. Lord Ondouv-Tel asked for and was granted an audience with his esteemed cousin the Khan. After a short meeting, he reported that the gentleman from Rhûn would be received at the local two-bell two days after the Khagan’s naming-day celebration. 

That was five days out. 

In shades of similar frauds here and around the world, Turlurn was dutiful assistant to Mr. Solvanth, reportedly of minor nobility among the barbarians. That cut no quarter with the Khan, but dressing and acting the part could help set the tone. Clothing and boots were sewn in Lhûg well in advance of this audience. Listracht made sure the Khan’s spies reported his esteemed northern neighbor had come into baubles.

While waiting, the Stámöe had more hard looks at Nag Kath’s map and talked about ways to use the property. They were as stunned as everyone else that someone had the wealth, not to mention audacity, to buy noble property for their use. The place was perfect with buildings already where they ought to be. It would need a bridge. The Elf knew about bridges.

Merchant Solvanth and dutiful Torlurn arrived early and were shown to a better reception area than the usual supplicants. They waited an hour but a steward fetched them directly into the smaller throne-room of his Excellency. The Khanate satrapies in Khand had a great deal of autonomy. The Khagan had plenty of spies, acknowledged and secret, but did not maintain line troops except to reinforce fiefs along the Southron border. As Nag Kath already knew, the family had lands that were theirs and the rest officially belonged to the Khagan in Ûbésêsh.

Both men bowed at the instructed distance and awaited his Lordship’s pleasure. The man was not as decrepit as claims against long travel. That was probably his excuse. He was said to like his wife which kept him from needing to visit places he would rather not. Some of these fellows were completely formal in dealings, speaking of themselves as ‘we’ or ‘his Excellency’. Khan Feddigh-Hoh III may lord-it most of the time, but this was a private embassy to the benefit of his house. He stood from his elevated cushion and gestured for the men to follow him to a small, private chamber quite amiably.

When they were seated, Nag Kath was invited to explain his purpose. As always, he began slowly and softly. “Your Excellency, I am a merchant of the far north and would like to discuss purchasing your lodge property in Nennûrad. My stock-in-trade is precious gems from Elves now departed this world. Please excuse my presumption but discretion seemed appropriate.”

The man granted, “That is wise. Please explain your interest in the property.”

“It seems ideal for a school for those who study lore and healing methods, close to a city yet capable of raising their own food and making things for sale. My grandmother was of that land and I have fond associations.”

His Excellency had a fine Dukks-face and mulled that for a moment before continuing, “Your activities would need to be in keeping with our Exalted Khagan’s directives on comportment, and also not in league with your own Bror’s interests in these blessed southern lands.”

“That is understood, Noble Lord. My family’s interests are trending away from Kugavod to the Rightful Bror’s more stable southern regions. Managers will be Khandians.”

The hook was set. It was money time. The Khan twirled his beard in his fingers and said, “That is a valuable property, much beloved by my extended family.”

“I can appreciate that, sir.” 

A price had to be reached. Feddigh-Hoh also knew that the right number of the right rocks would settle old accounts, perhaps gaining enough favor to be rid of the Khagan’s brother-in-law in the bargain. It was more than money. He would not have to conscript farmers for the upcoming levy either. “You may continue, Mr. Solvanth.”

The merchant and his servant would have been searched thoroughly for weapons but not for the small, purple worm-wool pouch Torlurn produced for his master. There were to be no sudden movements in honored presence. The trader removed the contents, laying them on the cloth before the Khan. Included among them was a very fine fire-glass. The Khan already had one but this was better so he used it to examine four small diamonds, four medium ones and one the size of a grape. It was more than enough. There would be no negotiation. The merchant had made his best offer and they both knew it.

Khan Feddigh-Hoh III rang a small bell and was instantly attended by his handman and a jeweler who examined the diamonds and nodded. Torlurn put the gems back in the bag and his Excellency said, “These gentlemen are to be made comfortable in the Winter Victory room with food. Send my scribe in as you leave.”

With that the man nodded and his will was done. Torlurn had never eaten a meal like this. The lamb cut with his fork. Wheat, not gureeq, loaves were steaming, prepared every few hours against just such a need. No alcohol was offered but there was hot or cold tea along with sweets. When they were recalled to the same room, a short, slight man with a pair of Gondoran spectacles was sitting with his Lord. The trader and his assistant took their cushions after bowing.

The scribe said, “This, gentlemen, is a contract of sale for the property from his Excellency to …?”

“Kathen Properties, best of sirs.”

After checking the spelling it was written on three pages. He went on, “This assumes the High Khagan’s approval and that all of his instructions will be done, including taxes or levies for fighting, just as with all property in his realm. This is in exchange for unspecified consideration taken in hand by his Excellency. Are there any other conditions to contemplate, Mr. Solvanth?”

“Just one, sir. I would like to build a bridge over the first river so that travelers may visit in comfort. I expect I will need an easement from the road on the property to the north.”

The Khan nodded to the scribe and it was written on all three pages. It only took a few minutes. The scribe then said, “Then Excellency, Mr. Solvanth, I will need you to sign these identical documents, one for his Lordship, one for the files and one for you to keep, best of sirs.”

Khan Feddigh-Hoh III signed first for his scribe to sand and chop. Torlurn poured the contents of the purple bag back on the outside of the cloth and the jeweler was recalled to confirmed they were the same stones as agreed. Finally, Nag Kath signed the contracts with the name; ‘Nag Kath Solvanth’ and added, ‘agent for Kathen Properties’ along with the Sindarin initials he used for art. Those signatures were sanded as well. The scribe took two and gave the satisfied buyer the third.

It might not have been necessary but Nag Kath added, “A worthy exchange, your Excellency. In my own country, all taxes will be handled from other funds. I saw no need to mention my intentions in coming here.”

The Khan said, “A wise decision, Mr. Solvanth. I hope we meet again as you travel here from your home lands.”

“That would be a pleasure, sir.”

____________------____________

Dismissed, the scribe followed them out and asked for a few minutes. They sat in yet another vestibule and the man said, “A satisfactory conclusion, best of sirs. I have included a letter of instruction from his Excellency when you present your proofs at the office in Nennûrad. This will be unexpected. Here is yet another letter from the Marshal of the Guard to present to the soldiers at the property saying much the same thing. If sir does not think it unfair, they may be open to a gift after long service.” There was a twinkle in the scribe’s eye. Nag Kath nodded, the clerk rose and bowed and the Righters made their way back to the inn. 

Turlurn never said one word until they left the gates. “Never met a Khan, before. He seemed more reasonable than I was expecting.”

Nag Kath grinned, “That is because we knew exactly what he wanted and when.” The stones were calculated so he could show respect to his Lord and ruler with enough to release or widow his daughter and adorn his wife and younger daughter in the highest style for a hopefully better wedding in the fall. It would also cover next year’s levy without creating rancor among those who grew the food. 

The old Righter never once smiled, but he did have an ale that night. Mrs. Feldishda did both. The old man didn’t give his name either but the younger Stámöe was Mr. Bengarath and he was very glad to see what he hoped would be a long life not spent waiting. 

As usual, Nag Kath poured a little water on the fire, “Sirs, ma’am, we need to remember that except for Mr. Torlurn here, no one in Nennûrad knows this is coming. He thinks it will be a good idea. This will be the first retreat established in daylight. We will need workers and farmers and craftsmen who do not know, and do not need to know, the full purpose. I hope the story that it is a retreat for scholars of the dullest subjects on earth will serve for now. 

“Subject to the Stámöe’s approval, I nominate Mr. Pedrigs as head of security for a good, hard look at the grounds and defenses. It seems a secure against attack, but putting in a bridge is an invitation. That will take a long time. I will pay for all of it. It is up to you how to tell your friends on the other side of the mountain.”

Young Mr. Bengarath would ride there along with a supporter who was also a builder. Heubrandz could help make sense of the work needed and the best use of trees towards the mountains. Pedrigs spent his time with his wife and young daughter. Before long, he would be back for them to go to their new home. 

The trip was the same as the last with them arriving in four days. Nag Kath and the men of Pashir took rooms at two different inns as Torlurn made straight for the bosom of his family. The Righters didn’t expect to see him for a couple days and tomorrow was the day of rest so they amused themselves going over the views from the city. 

This was an ambitious undertaking, but as Nag Kath said, the real work was already done. A Khan’s mansion and grounds on the best land gave them a good start. In the shadow of the mountains they would not get as full a day’s sun as further east, but crops were proven and the deep channels of both little rivers would keep it from flooding. It seldom snowed in the flats. Three thousand feet higher it would be white all winter.

As asked, Torlurn organized a meeting of the local officials and guests from headquarters at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj's home. The first session was all Stámoe business without the Elf. For the second, Nag Kath laid out his maps, contract and Khanate instructions to take possession of a parcel that seemed a shade over twelve square miles as drawn. He outlined his proposal in less than ten minutes. Primary responsibility fell to the people in the room with help from the north pledged. 

Now was when men who chew Halfling leaf say they couldn’t ‘choke the plug’. If they did, the vegetarian owned a hunting lodge. 

Pedrigs and Mr. Bengarath had not been here before but were known as senior men of the council. The builder was at the inn enjoying a better grade of ale than in the plains. There would be time for him later. A letter was presented from the Ghurate of Hanvas Tûr, not identifying them for obvious reasons, expressing support and best wishes.

It was time for someone else to say something. Mr. Dourdhan, who with Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj co-chaired the district said, “I, for one, would like to see this through. Mr. Kath, friends of Nennûrad and friends new to this lake, this may take longer than I have. How do we proceed?”

This part of the presentation was planned too but would take a lot longer. Nag Kath started with, “First, Mr Bengarath and I present the contract and the Khan’s letter to the County Administrator, the honorable Mr. Brigeth. I will include a contribution to his favorite charity making it his job to take care of his folk. Then some of us ford the river and present another letter to the house guard and more donations in honor of long service. They will probably report back here to Mr. Brigeth for reassignment but we want to keep a few who know the grounds. With a builder’s eye, I will make preliminary drawings of the entire parcel. Another man from Pashir is along for that as well. Lesser jobs will go to local folk as soon as they are ready.

“So, in answer to your question, best of sirs, you really don’t have to do anything for a while. Rumors will spread like wildfire. We douse them with tidings this is a school for subjects of interest to noble persons. The Khan’s blessing is already implied. Spread the news there will be work for townsmen by fall. To do that, we will need to have an office here for hiring, purchasing and transportation. I recommend those people not be of the Stámoe. We are the scholars who arrive later. For now, everyone is just working for a living.

“And with that, who feels like a refreshing trip to the country two days hence?”

The visit to the administrator was the same place Nag Kath went for the city map. The same helpful man showed him in. Mr. Brigeth was a typical provincial officer sent from the Khan’s capital. He was competent, smart and practical. The man read the letter twice after verifying the stamps and said, “Nice property, Mr. Solvanth. Its care falls to the Marshal but I expect you have that in order as well. His Excellency asks that I make my office available to you in furtherance of building a retreat and school for the study of lore and healing. Is that correct?”

“It is, best of sirs. His Excellency’s capable scribe explained that the property is subject to taxes and administrative charges, as are all in your lord’s and the great Khagan’s lands.” 

The scribe hadn’t said anything about administrative charges. This began the dance to assure the civil authority knew this project was conducive to a modest retirement. The tall, blonde man continued, “I assume your office will let us know how to stay in compliance with appropriate regulations.” Not many people summed the situation as concisely as Mr. Solvanth. But everyone else was trying to pay as little as possible. That was third on the tall man’s agenda. First came having friends, from the Khagan down.

Mr. Brigeth smiled a professional smile, “I will see to that when we have a better idea of your needs.” What he meant was a letter there and back that confirming local fees were a local business. This Solvanth seemed to know his oats. Perhaps they could enjoy a civilized cup of tea when schedules weren’t so unsettled. Unexpectedly the man added, "What are your plans for the smaller parcel just outside the city?"

Neither the Khan nor his scribe mentioned anything on this side of the river. "I need to give that more thought, best of sirs. Perhaps you could lend me a man to walk the boundaries?"

"Of course."

______________------______________

The next morning, Nag Kath, Pedrigs, Torlorn, builder Heubrandz, Mr. Bengarath and Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s daughter Helvadis rode out to the lodge. Snow in the lower heights had already started melting so it was a cold ford at the lake-edge about knee-high on the riders. On the way home the Elf would look where to put the bridge footings closer to the campus.

The same guard who warned the Elf off the last time started to do it again until handed a packet sealed with the Khan’s Marshal’s chop. The group quickly presented it to the senior man, a Lieutenant. He read it twice. He might have gotten shirty but this was not the career path it seemed when the Khan’s children were single. The new owners were shown inside. It was quite grand and only needed a little upkeep. They sat at the dining table and the officer summarized, “There are twelve people here who tend the property, home and grounds, not including the tenant farmers nearer the lake. They contract through my office every year. Some have done so for a decade. Then there are ten soldiers under my command. Whenever his Excellency or members of his esteemed family come, they bring their own contingent of guards and personal retainers according to their stations, along with cooks. Foods are brought from town in advance and during the stay. 

“You would not have seen it but closer to the lake there is a ferry for when we need to keep delicate feet dry.” He allowed himself a chuckle. This was his chance to make for Pashir earlier than his five-year commitment.

The signal for the others to wander about was the Elf saying, “Mr. Pedrigs, could you see to the kitchen area, please?”

Everyone got up leaving Nag Kath and the Lieutenant at the table. The Elf said, “His Excellency’s secretary hoped Kathen Properties would appreciate the soldiers’ dedication.” Nag Kath handed him a purse with two Florin in convenient Khandian denominations. “Would you be so kind as to share this with them as a token of our combined thanks?”

As much as the officer tried not to guess the weight of the coins in the leather sack, he couldn’t. The tall man continued, “Lieutenant, we would like to retain the civilians for a time. In addition, do you have a sergeant or corporal who might be interested in keeping an eye on things while we prepare?”

“I do indeed.”

The Lieutenant walked towards the wing housing the soldiers, only stopping to pour the purse on a table for a true count. Guards were already wondering what in the world was occurring. Without preamble he said, “We are going home. You are given a Florin in thanks for fine service. He doled those out three parts for his sergeant, two for two corporals and one part to the troopers. Even pocketing one Florin for himself, that was a very nice gift from the new owners and the men were generally glad to be leaving the dull assignment. 

On the way out, the Lieutenant said, “Menigarn, a moment.”

“Sir.”

“You are from Nennûrad, yes?”

“Close enough, sir.”

“These greenbottoms are looking for someone who knows which end of a sword to hold. Are you interested?”

“Yes sir. Not much work chasing pickpockets in Nennûrad.”

“Talk with the tall one.”

Menigarn, corporal for another two weeks, found the tallest visitor standing on the front porch overlooking the lake. He reported in military fashion, “Pardon, sir. I was told you might need a hand.”

Nag Kath turned and said in his own military voice, “What’s your name, Corporal?”

“Bruth Menigarn, sir.”

“When your archers face horse coming the next day, what is the first thing you do?”

“Dig and spike the trenches, see to the supply lines and dougsh, sir.”

“You’re hired. Starts at a silver a month. Lieutenant give you a little something to tide you over?”

“He did indeed, sir.”

“You married, Menigarn?”

“No sir.”

“Find a fellow named Pedrigs, about your height, bald, walks like a soldier. Tell him you know the place. I want to see all the staff here in a bell, you too. That’s all Menigarn.”

“Sir.”

It took longer than that because several of the groundsmen were up the hill tending grape vines. Only Pedrigs of the city folk joined them. The others were inspecting and wondering what they would do with this place. None of the staff had ever sat at this table. They would have been caned for it this morning. Nag Kath said, “Any of you who want to stay at your current wages, remain here.” Two men went to their quarters to pack. “Going around the table, give me your name and what you do.”

Pedrigs took notes. They had three of four groundsmen, a carpenter, two of three cleaners who also did handiwork, two cooks for the soldiers, a man who replaced candles and the majordomo who kept them occupied until the Khan, family or their guests came out with their own staff. The Elf asked, “Which of you gets supplies from the town?”

Majordomo Hulviesh said, “That is me sir. I send an order into town once a week and things are either floated across the river here or using the ferry for heavier supplies. We have an account in the city through the administration office.”

Mr. Hulviesh, please continue doing that but give your requisition to Mr Pedrigs here. Who knows the forest above us?”

A powerful man with the look of a soldier answered, “Me sir. I am the hunt-keeper so those grounds fall to me.” 

“Good man. Are there any horses here?”

The last man to get here said, “We have one nag and a donkey, mostly to bring supplies up from the lake.”

“Thank you, now when do you get paid?”

Steward Hulviesh said, “Last day of the month, sir. I fear we are in arrears.” It was the sixth, which might explain why the two civilians took their leave.

“If you would let me know what is owed, we will handle that today. Now, we are making a school using the existing buildings and will add to them as we can. You have a problem, talk to Mr. Pedrigs. Any questions?”

The senior cook, a woman in the Rosas mold, asked, “Sir, how many are we cooking for?”

Pedrigs said, “Yourselves and at most six others for now. We will let Steward Hulviesh know when more are coming.”

Nag Kath left so Pedrigs could explain the rules and went outside to join builder Heubrandz on the front porch. The man reported, “Good timber in back, can float it down too. Soil is deep, better for farming than posts, but it will do. All the stones in the buildings are from a quarry behind us.”

The Elf added, “I am going to make some sketches. I’ll cross even with the lodge but you can take the rest down to the ferry. Better see if it works. 

Mr. Bengarath and Miss Helvadis had explored the mansion together the whole time, never out of sight of the rest. The Elf chuckled to himself as Tal would have done and prepared to leave. Pedrigs would stay two days to get the feel of the place. 

__________------_________

At the next Stámöe meeting, the Elf had a confession, “That was interesting. I admit I have approached this incorrectly. I have been thinking of people who visit the northern retreats. Mr. Bengarath, when the Khan or his son came with a full hunting party, how many people were brought?”

The man held his short beard and said, “Well, twelve to fifteen people of name and twice that many support plus a company of soldiers. Sixty or seventy people all tolled.”

Nag Kath said, “That is what I thought. Add ten at least who are already there and say eighty people, many with high standards. My friends, we really don’t have to do much to the place at all. We couldn’t get that many people here unless we paid them. The place is ready. Let us consider what to do first and folk will find us. 

“Mr. Dourdhan. We still need an office in town with room for three people and several horses. In it we need a manager with a clacker and a lad to run errands to start. Can you attend that, sir?”

“I can, Mr. Kath.”

“Thank you. Tomorrow I will go to the women healers of Nûrad to ask their counsel.”

Things slowly came together. Nag Kath found he had to stop thinking of the King of Gondor ordering five hundred men for his water-path. This was a small town. It had wrights and craftsmen and tailors, but not a lot of them and they were busy. 

Walking through the mansion and buildings, it was rather grander than right-living scholars were used to. They would not need escort rider barracks or room for sixty horses at a time. The servants who lived here were used to doing for themselves. A blacksmith was added to the staff. When planting season arrived, the tenant farmers were offered a program to pay in crops they grew or cash with a list of different vegetables for variety and to have something to harvest at more times of the year.

The trip to the Nûradi healers was curious. He had a very hard time convincing the Thourah that they could come live and learn there for free. No, they only had to bring themselves and their things. No, they didn’t have to abandon this place. No, they didn’t need to pay rent. The woman said she would discuss it with their council but the Elf was never sure he made his point. The healer in town understood well enough but she would stay where her customers were. 

Nag Kath worked on bridge designs, he improved the ferry. In time he would put another pull-ferry on the river of the other boundary. It was easier to bring supplies by boat and use a wagon from the lake edge to the lodge so they did that too. 

Their big break came when Mr. Bengarath went back to Pashir with the builder. He seemed very sweet on the chaste Miss Helvadis but that was none of the Elf’s business. When the man returned home, he began telling scholars and retired folk with interest in lore about Nennûrad Tujd, a blessing in Variag. He also told people with aches and illnesses that had not healed. 

Most people would rather suffer than travel, but there were a few. Scholars made the easy trip. One enterprising fellow built an inn at a scenic brook halfway between. The Nûradi healers grudgingly sent two women who had little to do until seven folk from the Khanate capital arrived in carts to take care. Those women were famous but very shy about putting themselves forward. 

The retreat was not billed for right-living, per se. That was a northern approach. The Stámöe adopted some of those concepts that one should not take and must prevent others from taking. The next step was when two men from Yhammâs Fruhir and four from Hanvas Tûr took the pilgrimage to the third retreat. One from each party was a Ghur. Another was a masterful Poet/Sayer. There were still more employees than guests but in the late summer, Poet Seduathû sat in the fading light and recited the epic poem Banghir in its entirety. Activities were arranged so people could listen. Those who worked here were encouraged to attend. Everyone was mesmerized. There were traveling minstrels and Sayers all over Khand but that revered poem was over two thousand years old. Word would get out that this was the place to hear such majesty!

Ghur Antho was also a Lorist and held both lectures and discussions on right living principles of the past, avoiding the political for good reasons. One of the men who came from Pashir for healing his neck spent all his time looking at the books the folk of Lhûg brought; most copies the comedic scholars swindled from the real scholar’s estate when Nag Kath brought Chûr back. When he finally left, he started telling friends in the capital too. A group coming out in August brought Pedrigs wife and daughter. She was seven and liked to draw. 

By winter, the Nûradi healers accepted the offer to come, live and train, gaining a great deal more practical information on taking their skills where they were needed. 

____________-------___________

The year 99 started with a serious snow storm that left eight inches in Nennûrad. They had no notion of how to remove it. Nothing moved in the city. The retreat had food. In town flocks of sheep and goats climbed over drifts around rail fences and picked through grapevines until lads and dogs chased them off. It melted in a week. Children learned about snowballs.

For travelers from Pashir and now further cities in the realm, winter was the time to travel. Some were snowed-in, which is enjoyable if it doesn’t last too long. It was also the time to start the long-awaited bridge from the main road a mile away. Too deep here to ford without swimming, the north bank was solid rock for several hundred feet with a number of tie-points. The south bank would have to be built with stones brought there from the quarry. Men dug a ramp for wagons to pull even with the stone floor and rocks were loaded for the slow trip down the grade. There weren’t any large stones and they could not have moved them if there were. Fortunately there were mines of the soil that hardens when wet less than twenty leagues away. That had been ordered and supplies were building.

The Nennûradi are not Dwarf masons. A skilled builder from the town accepted a contract to live there over the spring to help build the south foundation. It took several tries before his laborers understood that they have to use the drying soil right after they added water. It was not a big job. Nag Kath showed them how to make the wooden support to grout-in the rocks, just like hundreds across the flood-plain of Osgiliath. This was a span of about eighty feet with a convenient stone center support. In Gondor, supervisors would have been cursing and extolling the men. Right-livers can’t do that. They worked slowly, took breaks and ate well. The wood frame was up before the snow melted and the bridge was done two months later. It was no thing of Elvish beauty, but a small wagon would fit. 

That fall came another signal event. Khan Urgrid of Alagoth’s oldest son and heir injured his neck and shoulder riding ten years before. He was a strong man from a strong family but was wearing down. Friends made in the wedding between the two Khanates told him of the care available no further from him than Pashir. He finally relented to visit after his aide came for an inspection. Lord Ahrgrid arrived with staff, retainers, friends and his younger son.

The man was made comfortable in a suite built for such as him. Branool, one of the Nûradi healers’ best, attended his Lordship with treatments. His bones had grown painful spurs and those were gradually worn down. The curious blonde man attended to care personally. Nag Kath knew that was cheating, but if he didn’t tell anyone it was sorcery, they wouldn’t know. Fixing-up a Khan’s heir would open new interest.

The man would never be entirely restored, but two months later, he could swing a sword. During that time, a woman wise in herbs and remedies came to stay as well. She did not have powers but knew at least as much as Nag Kath and which of those healing plants grew around the lake. Folk came at first for healing of the body but often left soothed in mind too. More books arrived. A young Sayer from Lhûg came and decided to stay. He was green but had potential with a nice voice. Others learned to sing the old songs. Some of the Alagoth nobles, where public singing was honored, lent their voices. 

Before they knew it, it was harvest season. After that, Pedrigs and Menigarn formed up a haphazard militia to defend the bridge. If anyone attacked by boat from the lake, they would win. Grains were fair. Fruits were better. More fruit and nut trees were planted in the deepest loam. It would be ten years before they bore but this was a place of growing. At the end of the year, they had the sense that it would work. Folk coming, donations, selling what they grew all added up. They had no debt and could afford both the regular tax and the levy tax. 

Not much of the teaching was for right-living but some seeped into everything they did. As Nag Kath thought about it, the right-living component was an opposite reaction to Sauron. With him gone, making lives better was as much as could be reasonably gained. If the dark-ones ever returned, the Righters would be the first to adapt.

With friends in both Khanates to their west and no threats to the east, folk were at ease, the first step to peace. Another group of representatives from Hanvas brought both Lorists and Sayers. They also had practical ideas for running a place that might eventually get as large as theirs. Folk who worked the fields and made crafts moved there. Pedrig’s girl had children her own age to play with. 

Nag Kath finally got around to seeing the property near the city. It was about fifty acres originally intended for quartering escort riders well away from the market square. The city had grown that direction over the centuries. Of course, no one here dared ask the Khans to use it and the Khans forgot they owned it. Kathen Properties gave it to the newly chartered Stámöe Partners so they could sell-off bits and pieces for operating money.

If only the first century of the Fourth Age didn’t have to end.


	23. Images from Below

**_Chapter 23_ **

**_Images from Below_ **

King Elessar stared across the table. Only Chancellor Derenbar remained seated as the council filed out. They had prepared. They were ever vigilant. Militias trained.

Similar reports; enemies of the Dead Marshes were more visible, roaming, straying from the water encasing them. Slain Angmari and Algraig mercenaries had been seen in the Mournshaws the same way. The ghost stories had always been whispered, but reliable folk had now seen apparitions of warriors. No one on earth knew the destructive force of undead soldiers as well as the King of the Reunified Kingdom. They decided the battle of Pelennor Fields for the alliance. 

Why this? Why now? 

What was it Legolas said all those years ago; those two places and others had never been at peace? The changeling could tell too. The one thing all sites had in common was that they buried soldiers or fell creatures at one time under the command of the Witch-King of Angmar. No western king had supported a probe-in-force to the northern wastes. 

What happened to Nag Kath? Had he given up on the Witch-King? Had the west given-up on him? Had his King? The Elf spent long years looking for an eastern sorcerer. Did he look still? Was he healing? It was not unusual for him to disappear for years at a time. 

Derenbar saw the concern in his Lord’s face and needed to know; “Sire, this is before my time but what do we face here?”

“I cannot yet say. Right now; phantoms, men who died opposing our forebearers.”

The King knew that if they had the power of the Oathbreakers he summoned, no blade could harm them. So far it was mist. The King made his decision, “Do you know Nag Kath?”

“I have heard the name, a trader, a painter, yes?”

“And more. I need him found and brought to me, very gently, he is a friend. If told I need him, he will come. Send as many men as it takes.”

The healer had friends here. Some of them may still be alive. One of his grandchildren was the noted architect who designed the facade near the fountain but he died four years ago. Nag Kath said they had children. When found, they had not heard in years but thought east. The Half-Elven told his great, great grand-daughter, wife of Lord Barahir, he was returning east, but east was a big, unknown place.

Riders were sent forth. One went to Rohan and was to make for Dale afterwards. Others went to Lindon and Arnor. Two men took the ferry to Pelargir and then to the river mouth before sailing to Dol Amroth. A friendly merchant would ask in Rhûn. Each of them carried a letter, signed and sealed by the King, asking Nag Kath to help him attend old friends.

Aragorn told the Lady Arwen after the working day. She was literally his Evenstar in all matters and this hearkened to her experience. Not old as Elves go, she still had three thousand years experience in a world nothing like the one men knew now. 

“They were moving?”

“Yes.” The King touched his gray beard and added, “I have sent men to find Nag Kath. He felt their presence all those years ago.” 

“I think that wise, beloved husband. What were these soldiers doing?”

“Reports said they seemed lost, as if looking for a commander.”

The Queen said, “I shudder to think who that might be.” In her heart she added; 'Please, let it not be the changeling'.

___________-------___________

There were no such risings on Lake Nennûrad. Many of the same breed died here as in the Dead Marshes but they were not led in battle by the Angmarach. The dead were dead. 

Nennûrad Tudj prospered. Four children were born here. It was a place of healing and thought. It also had little to do with the traveling Righters who still patrolled for those who did not heal or think. 

Nag Kath felt it was time to go west again. This place did not need him anymore. Some men would be angry at losing their mandate. He saw one more successful grandchild standing on two feet. Eniecia was getting old. In the fall he would hand over the reins to Pedrigs and look back in pride. 

That April he began feeling pain in his chest. It was not the known sensation of a failing heart. This was coming from outside. It was coming from darkness. It went away after a few hours but was back two weeks later, stronger. That night the palace in Nennûrad burst into flames. 

They had not told the people there of the ward. Watchers said no one stayed in the palace except for occasional traveling nobles, sometimes headed for the retreat or going home, certainly no one with sledges to smash two-inch thick granite floors. It was a clear night with a good moon. Nemren would have to trust him like Charlo had in Pelargir. He had his bow and scabby sword. With the bridge, it was only a twenty minute sprint to the western edge of town.

The grand hall and private residence had been torn to rubble. Crews of volunteers and soldiers stationed there were already dousing fires. Astonishingly, very few people were hurt and only one woman killed from falling stones. Witnesses reported hearing terrible screams as if the very heavens were wailing in anger and vengeance. 

It was just the palace with no other damage past the walls. Nag Kath did not smell trolls. There was another smell, but not trolls. He saw Mr. Brigeth a block from the scene. The man said everyone for two blocks from the place was ordered to leave. Some didn’t. His men weren’t going to go get them. Nag Kath asked him a guilty question, “Sir, was there a group of nobles or building work being done?”

“Not that I know, and I would have. Just two night-watchmen playing dice . They got out and told me. It is as if the terrors of old have returned. I must see to these folk. Be careful.”

In the wee-hours the fires were out. Nennûrad was mostly stone so a few roofs caught fire but burned themselves out. Nag Kath crept towards the wall nearest the hall and hopped the fence. He heard the breathing; long, impossibly long, breaths ending the exhale with a growl. When he rounded the antechamber to the reception hall, he saw it sitting on a balcony.

A drake; silver in color and very small for their kind. In Dale he heard no end of the size of Smaug. This fellow was no more than forty feet from toes to snout. Its wings were folded against its body and it seemed to be waiting. As silently as possible, Nag Kath crept to see around the corner of the hall. The roof was ripped off, open to the stars and moon to see by. The creature broke out of the pit. No man prized it free.

What was it waiting for, sitting still as a statue, not really looking at anything?

The Elf felt bad. Telling anyone would have only set it free sooner. That wasn’t the same as giving people the chance to move if they believed him. As the sun rose, he left his bow and quiver against a wall and pulled his sword, creeping along a corridor so if the dragon tried to burn him, he could dash behind a stone barrier. 

Only fifty feet away, he called in the Black Speech, **_“Why are you called to do this harm?_**

The dragon slowly opened its eyes and moved its head to identify the sound. Then he said in a voice lower than any Nag Kath had heard, ** _“I am called from old and away. Long years have I waited.”_**

A troop of foot soldiers had slipped in the gate and stood by the main entrance at the other end of the hall from the beast. Nag Kath saw them and held out his hand not to approach. They saw him before the drake and froze in their tracks. 

The Elf called, **_“Who summons you at this late hour?”_**

**_“The Angmarach, always the Angmarach. He made me, placed me here and told me to wait.”_ **

Nag Kath said, ** _“He is long dead. Another must have called to you.”_**

**_“I was given the call. If not from him, from his servant.”_ **

The Elf wanted to find a way out of this. People had been hurt, but not nearly as many as the trolls killed. This creature was capable of that. Now bathed in rising light, it threatened more than a single night of bloodshed. Nag Kath called, ** _“You were given a false command to kill a man who lived here a thousand years ago. You were left in slumber too long, my friend. What will you do now?”_**

 ** _“There was never an ending. I came forth.”_** The creature flapped its wings slightly, like a duck drying its feathers . At first the men in the entry thought it would leave but were not prepared to shoot harmless arrows at the armored beast. It saw them but paid no heed.

**_“I must ask you not to harm the folk of this city. They are dear to me. Is there a place you can go for respite after restless waiting and toil?”_ **

In sadness the creature asked, ** _“What is that to you?”_**

**_“I did the same. Now I am restored. The dark lords are gone after failing. If you must return to your home, I will help, as others helped me.”_ **

The dragon hopped down from the balcony with a single flap of its long wings and approached the Elf unsteadily. Nag Kath heard the command to nock arrows and yelled in Variag, “Stay! We parlay!”

Watching the dragon step closer he dared not look at the soldiers but they seemed to be holding. The monster craned its neck so its head was level with the Elf’s and said, **_“I was not meant to live in this or any other world. That is my sadness. You can do nothing for me.”_**

**_“Perhaps you can do something for me. If the servant is dead, do you know who called you to this doom?”_ **

The creature said, ** _“I do not. It was no great summons, barely enough to wake the spiders, almost as if unintended. I will leave now. Thank you for your kindness.”_**

With that he hopped back up to the balcony and then the remaining lip of the roof. With a huge flap of its wings, it soared east and then righted, making north. One man shot his arrow but missed. It was gone. Nag Kath sheathed his sword and walked to the men saying, “What has the beast wrought?”

The Lieutenant, a different one than relieved at the lodge, said, “One dead, several injured or burned.”

The Elf said, “I will attend them. It is the least I can do.”

______________-------_____________

The last rider was back in the White City after five months in the north looking for the healer. There was no sign of him in the west. He could only be in the east, if alive, unless he had sailed to Valinor. The next day, the Minister was summoned back to the King’s office for the queerest command. Aragorn said, “There is a supply of Syndolan powders somewhere in storage. If they cannot be found, have a new supply readied. I want rockets made that will go high in the sky and explode.”

“How many, Sire?”

“Use all of the powder. I want them taken to the pass in the Ephel Duath above the Poros and shot into Mordor, one every week. Save one for utmost need.”

“At once, Sire.”

**_____________-------_____________ **

****

The Elf stayed in town healing the injured. Donations for the hurt and killed were very strong from contributors who did not leave their names. Almost everyone in Nennûrad saw the fell but beautiful silver creature lift into the sky and fly high away. Folk wanted to know why and if there were others. They were also curious why a dragon would destroy an empty palace. The administrator had questions too. Nag Kath was summoned. Wasting no time Mr. Brigeth said, “Troopers saw you conversing with the beast. Would you care to explain that?”

“In my travels I have heard of other ancient traps being tripped. There was one on the Anduin long years ago. Learned men said they were pits laid by Sauron left unopened when he was destroyed. And like when a storm pulls a forgotten rabbit snare, creatures come to life for one day to destroy where they were hidden.”

Brigeth said, “Plausible, but that does not explain how you spoke with the dragon and it left.”

“Oh, yes, I am come from the lands near where the Great Smaug long sat on a treasure of Dwarf gold, where it is said the other great dragons were created in stealth.”

The administrator was sorry for the injured but if this beast was sitting on another pile of gold, that signified. Nag Kath saw the reaction and added, “The trap beasts were merely buried, though it would not hurt to examine its lair.” Back to the original thought, “I spoke to him in that tongue saying that he had been called to life too late for Sauron’s service, hoping he would not take vengeance on our friends here in Nennûrad. His work done, he flew away. I do not know the direction.”

The administrator said, “North, he flew north.”

For a little extra credibility, Nag Kath added, “It seems he broke through the floor of the palace. Was it an ancient place of fierce rulers?”

“Yes and no. The building was quite old but destroyed several hundred years ago and rebuilt after the war, including a stout stone floor leveling the old.”

The scholar of Nennûrad Tudj, which was contributing nicely to the local economy, held his chin, “Perhaps that kept him from escaping sooner. I am just glad it was not worse.”

Brigeth accepted that at face value, “Thank you for your courage. Few are the men who would have told a dragon to leave like a drunken guest.”

“We all want to be heroes once in our lives.”

Nag Kath went back to the retreat in mid-May. Folk there were sorry for the trouble and glad it was no worse than if the building had fallen in from neglect. People who saw him thought he was deeply troubled by the fell creature even though he had talked with it in his strange, northern tongue. Thankfully, they did not know Westron from the Black Speech. He was more concerned with why it snapped under two inches of massive floor stones on top of that much old stone. No mortal let him loose. And what of the ward in Kugavod? That only had six inches of dirt over it. 

_______________--------_____________

As things were getting back to normal, Sergeant Menigarn looked at the Elf and said softly, “You seem lost in thought, Nag Kath.”

The Elf brought his eyes back to the man and said, “Sorry, I was. I should check on Mrs. Sorrech. That leg poultice needs changing.”

Nag Kath took his bag from the table on the porch and walked down to one of the converted barrack huts where lay a very grouchy old woman. He knocked on the door and entered without permission. The patient shouted, “About time!”

“It usually is. Let me look at that burn.”

This was not from the dragon attack. The woman lived in town and dropped a fire poker on her calf a week before. He unwrapped a bandage exposing an infected sore that was far from healed. The Elf looked for a minute and felt around the edges. Mrs. Sorrech winced and scolded, “Be careful!”

Nag Kath gave her a lordly stare and she added, “Please.”

He kept the same face, “You have not drunk your tea.”

“It tastes like privy-ale.”

“Such is the nature of things that are good for you. I am going to give you a fresh poultice but if you do not drink your tea, I will treat the wound with honey and leave you on an anthill.”

The silence of contrition was only disturbed by crickets. The healer re-dressed the burn and gave the woman another supply of truly foul medicine. As he was leaving, her daughter-in-law blanched at the tongue-lashing sure to come for steeping the next batch.

Nag Kath walked back for the evening meal at peace. Pedrigs was still at the mess hall when the Elf returned. The man took a pull of his tea and said fulsomely, “After helping her, no dragon could stand before you.”

A middle-aged couple joined them at the first dinner bell and they started a gentle conversation about the Poet who had just left for Lhûg. He was very good. The last had been only fair but welcomed and celebrated just the same. All felt that was a vocation deserving encouragement. 

Somewhat unexpectedly, forest-keeper Bvred-Chousan walked in and announced, “The most curious event! A comet was seen in Mordor, a great red thing said to explode over the Duath!” 

Sergeant Menigarn proclaimed, “No doubt a terrible omen for the misbegotten Nûrns!” He looked around the table and asked, “What became of Ghur Kath?”

____________--------____________

If the weather held, Nemren could reach the pass at Khûr-Khand in eight days. It would take four more to pick their way through to the grasslands of Mordor, Nûrn nowadays. He said quick goodbyes. They knew this was coming in fall. It just happened sooner. He might be gone a month or forever, but he would love them always.

There was good road for the first half through Pashir following the river to the Temple of Kondri Hochi. From there it was only fair. Nag Kath took this path long ago inciting the Nûrnen Alignment, as it was called now. It was tricky footing in places but not high or foreboding. Two weeks after leaving Tudj he was in the land of Culduin, realm of Hurm Urghbad. The comet was unreliably said to be seen at high-night, the twelve-bell in most places. When it was too dark to push Nemren, the Elf scampered up a rock and fixed his gaze at the mountains bordering Gondor until Tillion had nearly completed guiding the moon. There he rested.

They took their leisure to the capital since he could now see the mountain range. Urghbad was a distant cousin of Rhorzah, ally of Rydovosh in the Alignment. His elevation was said to not be entirely smooth but he had ruled for seven years and did not seem any worse than the rest of the Hurms lining the Nûrnen. Nat Kath paid his respects but camped outside and shared in neither their food nor their women.

He did share their information. Comets were not the harbingers of doom as in Khand or, especially, Rhûn. A century after Sauron, shooting stars could still not compete with the Dark Lord’s brutal legacy. They were interested and Urghbad’s second counselor explained that the red one was seen almost four weeks ago. A week and two weeks later, silver comets flew across the sky at the same time of night. Folk waited outside last week but saw nothing in the rain. If it happened on the same day again, that was two days hence. 

There is not a lot to do in Mordor. Nag Kath cautiously made his way west, catching fish making for the lake and spending warm nights watching the sky. Men of Mistrand came here to make fishing boats a few years back. Lake water was still undrinkable but the bigger fish caught further from the bank lost more of that taste. He sketched children brave enough to approach. 

That was Gandalf’s green! No other fire-maker had the tail that stretched like a cock-plume. It was shot from the gap below the beast-pool they used on their embassy here so long ago.

He stopped in Emyn Arnen. Elboron and Angalaca were their usual merry selves. The children were in Dol Amroth for a short trip but their little grandchildren were causing mayhem in a corridor just down the hall. They did not know him but were not afraid. He kissed them goodbye in the morning. 

Osgiliath was hot. Taverns were busy. Being two nights before the Feast of Tellarian, folk were getting an early start. Nag Kath stopped at Tumfred’s house as the sun went down.

“My stars! Look who wandered in! Fred, Nag Kath is back!”

The round little woman with rosy cheeks pulled him close for a hug and kiss. The grandson of Tumlen and his wife were now in their early sixties. The city was climbing back after the flood of 98 and most of their space was rented. The Dunlending statue had been spared. They had a quiet evening. Daughter Tumlier was cooking for a friend whose mother was not expected to last the week. Business was fair. Nag Kath did not even ask what his share was worth. It was more than he needed since Nennûrad Tujd was built with a spoon-full of rocks.

As blandly as possible, the Elf asked the local situation. In Osgiliath things were fine. White City customers said the same. The King was still hale though Eldarion was taking on more of the formalities. Tumfred looked at the ceiling and remembered, “Oh, along your former line; a troll tore through the capital of the Bror.” 


	24. Angmarach

**_Chapter 24_ **

**_Angmarach_ **

Maps of Angmar really help here: <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

At dawn Nag Kath made for the capital at speed. New guards at the sixth did not know him. Nag Kath showed the worn ruby pass producing a Lieutenant with standing orders to admit the Elf at any hour of the day.

Soft Khandian boots did not click like the guard heels on their way to the private office. The Elf waited about half a bell until the Ruler of the Reunited Kingdom stepped in. Nag Kath rose, bowed and waited. They hadn’t seen each other in five years. Aragorn’s hair was white and his face lined but he stood unbowed. His smile and handshake were the same.

Cold tea was waiting. When they were alone, Aragorn took a sip and asked softly, “Have you traveled long?”

“Yes, My Lord. Eight weeks ago I was told of a comet in the west, a little early for Syndolan.” His natural speaking voice was closer to Elf-Lord tone now. He did not notice. “I was in Eastern Khand.”

Nag Kath showed no signs of impatience, he never had, but the King did not think it fair to reminisce after what would have been a hard ride. Aragorn put his hands together and looked at them before saying, “Long ago, you said you thought there were lingering sorceries from the Third Age. Do you still think so?”

“I do, Sire. Just before I left, a fire-drake destroyed a palace in Khand. Tumfred of Osgiliath told me a troll escaped in Kugavod. Both were in known pits just like Pelargir. There are probably more. Something is waking them.”

King Elessar spoke very deliberately, “Specters of enemies in the Dead Marshes have been seen above the water near the banks. It was said they seemed confused, like soldiers in the fog of battle. I get the same reports from the Mournshaws, Lich Bluffs. We have been looking for you almost a year now.”

“The Barrow Downs, Sire?”

“Not yet.”

“Angmar?”

“We have no reliable eyes there.”

“Forgive me, sir. The orcs above Erebor?”

Aragorn considered before saying, “It had been some time since they were sent fish, but a small party of them came to the border and said they were concerned about Gundabad.”

Nag Kath drank about half of his mug and said, “Sire, I should like to greet my family for a few days. Then do you suppose Lord Elboron could spare me half a troop to visit the marshes?”

Nemren needed shoes. He needed a rest too so Nag Kath requisitioned another horse for the trip to the Brown Lands. They weren’t as brown as they used to be but still a miserable place. No one from here or Rohan ever found them tempting. Before leaving, the Elf spoke with one of the merchants who reported ghosts floating on the water. He was ex-militia and not a man given to vapors. Calmly and plainly, he described orcs, hillmen and other Sauronic allies seeming to look about as if woken after long sleep. They did not sense each other or him.

Lieutenant Kieperd led a full troop of the King’s own guard. They were all too young to remember Nag Kath as anything but a citizen, except one who knew of worm-wool. Kieperd told the men the Elf’s word was law, even if it sounded absurd. 

It was not a long trip, three days on a good road. Merchants would just turn the corner at the Black Gate and make for the winelands. Their company veered left and came to the southern edge of the vast bogs that stretched as far west as the Anduin. Kieperd called the halt and ordered camp made on high ground well away from the stagnant water. Dusk was coming. The Elf let the men unpack and squatted on a knoll overlooking the swamp. 

Nothing seemed different. Elves, just as dead as the others, lay where they fell. Some stared up, no widow to shut her poor husband’s eyes. Nag Kath neither slept nor took his rest that night or the next. The soldiers were good men but had absolutely nothing to do. Some were joking with each other until Kieperd glanced at his Sarn't who ordered them to lay face in the dirt and push themselves up and down with their arms many times. 

The Elf turned to look but was facing the marsh again before he smiled. Men were unnerved watching him sit like a rain-gutter demon. With morning came mist. It might rain this afternoon as clouds built from the west. 

Nag Kath was not the first to see them. A trooper caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the rank-grass from Nag Kath’s perch. Sarn't whistled and jerked his head northeast. The Elf hopped down and crept quickly around the reeds. There were dozens of figures walking as if on the surface of the shallow pools, like the skaters when the lakes of Dale froze. Three were very close. Two seemed men, though one was missing his face. The nearest was an orc carrying his curved scimitar. Nag Kath held his palms towards the troopers, as if they needed any more reason not to join him. Then he worked his way to the bank, some fifty feet from the yrch (Sindarin for the big soldier orcs of the far northeast).

He could see through the creature, just like the Oath-breaker ghosts. It did not seem aware of him or the two soldiers further away. There was a dead Elf face-down in the mud in plain sight. The only prowlers were enemies. Nag Kath watched the orc for quite a while as he paced a small oval, facing outwards. 

Standing on the bank, Nag Kath projected a command in the Black Speech. The creature heard nothing. Then he shot a confusion spell at the orc. It sensed that and turned towards him but those only last a few seconds. The bringing spell had no effect and the casualty began pacing his oval again.

Radagast once told him the bodies in the water were only ghosts of the dead but not physical. Nag Kath thought he had better be sure so he stepped knee-deep in the mud to grab the Elf’s ankle. His hand closed on nothing but water. The dead Elf was just another figment. 

Company was coming! The orc definitely sensed him and ran with sword raised. Soldiers yelled for him to defend himself. Nag Kath pulled his sword in time to deflect his attacker’s slash. The swords passed through each other and then through their bodies with no effect. Before the orc could hack again, Nag Kath hopped back on the bank. The orc jabbed his sword at the air probing. Soldiers in camp saw the blonde man drop his weapon and open a little pocket knife, holding it near the dazed specter before it eventually wandered back to its small circle.

The mist of the morning was giving way to a sunny day. The dead faded with it. Nag Kath walked back to the camp and poured the water out of his boot in front of the slack-jawed troopers. No one uttered a word until the Elf said, “Please, gather around. Tell me what you saw. Do not rely on each others’ accounts.”

There was general agreement that until his foot hit the water, the orc had no sense of his presence. Nag Kath asked what the others did.

Corporal Felligath had deputized himself as Atlier and answered, “The one with a face turned your way but the other kept circling his little area. I wondered if they patrol their place of unrest, like a dog tethered to a peg.”

Trooper Jin added, “That orc heard you right enough!”

To great relief, their own demon grinned, “They can be relied on to attack. I did not look closely at the men, could you tell anything about them from their dress or weapons?”

Lieutenant Kieperd took that one; “Neither carried sword nor shield. The one with a head wore a helmet. I cannot be sure but it looked from the north, perhaps Arnor. I am sorry I cannot be more helpful than that.”

Nag Kath put his boot back on and stood, “Let us see if we can find a man close to the edge.” Half went left and half right. Within ten minutes they found two candidates. One seemed a Hillman with a spear hole through his ribs. The other was a more promising. His clothes gave nothing away but a helmet next to his feet was eastern. Nag Kath wondered if he might have been one of the Wain-riders from his old haunts slaughtered here by Eärnil. He only knew the story because the Gondoran King reigned long and a lot of nippers bore his profile. 

Kieperd had a man try to drag the helmet out with his lance but it was only an illusion, memory of kit now rusted away. They really had rotted, leaving only remembrance ... remembrance driven by power unknown. Both groups returned to camp to hear more madness, “If there is mist tomorrow, I will speak to him.”

That night around the fire the troopers agreed that only ale could take the taste of this rotten place from their mouths. If they stayed more than two days, they would have to get fresh water from the east. Few of them slept well. Sentries shivered watching the Elf crouched on a mound above the dead Variag in the moonlight.

At dawn there were mists and soldiers began rising and pacing. Nag Kath reached his silvering hand in the pool not six feet from the casualty. He felt nothing for a while but then the soldier’s eyes opened. Part of him lay exactly as it had been as a new apparition within it rose to sit. After a minute, the soldier’s bloodless head was above the surface. He seemed muddled but not afraid. Nag Kath applied his confusion spell to no effect. The head still turned his way. The Elf spoke gently in Khandian, “Who are you?”

“Ureg, son of Ugreg.” The voice floated, not made by mouth.

As if asking a lost child, “Do you wait for Ar-Balkumagân?”

“Yes, the Angmarach.”

“Do you feel his presence?”

“Soft, echoes. Something in the water.”

Nag Kath finished, “Rest now. Wait for him.”

He was glad the two horrified guards protecting him did not speak Khandian as the head slipped below without a ripple.

_______________-------______________

Minister Edenthread, advisor on war, asked most of the questions. Prince Eldarion chaired. The King largely watched. Chancellor Derenbar was there. There was no minister of fell, remaining sorcery, unless it was Nag Kath. Derenbar asked, “What impressions beyond what you have told us?”

The Elf sipped his tea and licked his lips. “The question is whether the spells over these forsaken men are diminishing and freeing them to the halls of their peoples or if they are being slowly revived to complete their task. I fear the latter since our allies do not join them.”

Edenthread was fifty one. Sorcery had no effect in his rise to rank. He fought men; rebels, border skirmishes – folk he could see. But he was also a patient and learned man. His great grandfather stood at the gates. The veteran told his children and they told theirs. The soldier watched trolls roll terrible engines of war to the walls while fell-beasts swiped men from the ramparts. Before father died, he taught his children there had always been magic, foul magic. It would raise its head and then sleep over many lifetimes of good people.

The war minister asked, “What remedy, Lord Kath?”

“I keep returning to the Witch-King. This poor creature seemed to recognize his leader. He should not recognize anything.”

The Elf sat back in his chair with his fingertips together and gathered himself to say, “King Elessar, please do not think me blind to all else. Sauron’s greatest servant Ar-Balkumagân was long a powerful sorcerer before he was enslaved by the ring, and even that took centuries. I believe he retained his own interests, if only to keep his flock under-thumb, like an employed man who retains hometown property. Even if the Dark Lord’s gifts died with him, I would know who inherited his black legacy.”

Edenthread’s aid was Mynard Thomald. He was young but not rash, “Sirs, if sorceries remain in those distant lands, is our concern the orcs or men?”

When no one else answered, the King said, “Men. Orcs cannot wield magic. They fear it, knowing they can be easily bent to its will.”

Thomald took the risk that another question would not overstep his bounds, “And the men, sir?”

Elessar looked at Nag Kath who said distantly, as if a Lorist, “I spoke to the dragon. He was confused, saying that his summons was weak, almost as if by accident, perhaps incomplete. He destroyed the building to break free but did not stalk anyone like the trolls. That pit was warded by a master sorcerer and the spell still broke it. Scions have not yet learned to wield their inheritance, but someone is closer. In time, the wrong man will. My Lord Elessar has seen this. So have I. Time works against us.”

The King had his elbows on the table, fingertips touching as well. He chose. “It is September now. The heir will go to Annúminas in spring. I need to know what force will be needed. Nag Kath?”

Against the gravity of the meeting, the grim Elf smiled, “I hope the lake has whisker-fish.”

To everyone’s astonishment, Aragorn smiled back, “Big ones.”

The Elf and King walked out together, the only two there who understood that this craft was not the misty lore of the ancients. It was the hard business of those who ruled only a century before. Aragorn asked, “You go to Dol Amroth now?”

“Yes Sire, my grand-daughter is very dear to me but now elderly. I will visit her over the winter and be back before the spring melt.”

“Yes, the water blossom. And dear to Barahir as well.”

“A fine man, sir. They are there now. I hope to see them all.”

“I think … a moment …” The King turned to two women walking through long shadows in the corridor. “Daughter, come and meet my old friend.”

They approached and bowed. One was middle-aged and conservatively dressed in the garb of a high domestic. The other was very fair with flowing dark hair and gray eyes. Both bowed to the King and the young one gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aragorn said, “Nag Kath, may I present my daughter Inariel? Inara, this is Nag Kath.”

They both bowed. She appeared quite taken with the tall fellow and the name rang a faint bell. Nag Kath said, “It is good to see you, My Lady. It has been some time.”

She curtsied, “A pleasure, sir.”

The King added, “Lord Kath has been away in eastern lands where he knows much of lore and customs.”

The Princess smiled brightly, “I hope we meet again, My Lord.”

They both bowed again and she withdrew with her maid.

The Elf said, “I can see both you and Her Ladyship in the Princess’ face. She is a well-favored child.”

Aragorn smiled, “And a handful. I fear I spoil her. Now, be sure to return by April. Eldarion sets as firm a pace as his old father and it will be a sizeable troop. Oh, how are you set for a horse?”

“Old Nemren is probably good for one more campaign. He will be here over the winter with a lad to keep him fit.”

“Go then, with all my hopes and blessings, sir knight.”

___________------___________

Strolling through the city, he felt the history. Had it been so long? A century after the war. Signs and faces had changed but the buildings were almost all still ancient. He recognized Shurran’s hand on a few new ones and repairs to the old. 

Penni was glad to seem him and so where her children, except Feuril. Reyaldar just retired and Fieldar had the reins now. The Elf was Uncle Nag but the next generation did not know him well, nor should they. This was the age of men. Everyone else was gone. It had to happen. For the longest time, he was Kath of this or that. The soldiers going to the Dead Marshes had never heard of him, despite the Dunlending at the water pavilion. 

Two weeks later he booked passage to Dol Amroth. Nemren would stay here with Field’s son riding him on the plain. The horse would like that. As he always tried to do, Nag Kath gave himself a day in Pelargir to see Helien’s and Phylless’ graves and clean the stones. He had left so many people behind. 

Eniecia had just turned 81 and was still a dancing blossom to her Uncle Nag. Cal was two years older. He might live into his hundreds as so many people here did. After a career putting him as high as someone not in the Princely family could go, Caladrion retired in high honor. Legorn was one hundred and eleven, finally slowing down. They sat on the front porch and watched the ships sail into the harbor. It brought peace. New babies needed burping. Two days after arriving he saw Barahir and Talienne. They were only here for another two weeks but managed dinner twice. 

Eniecia saw something warm in her grand-da's eyes. Most times they were neutral - as if observing without comment. At others they were mirthful. This time they were alive as he explained the retreat by the beautiful lake. Purpose had found him. He even told his own stories with hidden light. Dear Nag. With luck, the march up and back would over by next winter – spring if the campaign dragged on. He enjoyed the Princely City until mid-February to stay ahead of spring flows with plans to return after unspecified sorcery in the north, although everyone in the family knew the King had been looking for him. 

March in Minas Tirith was warm with two heavy snows to remind everyone not to be complacent. Nag Kath spent most of his time reading his old books. He visited the archives, although the golden days of red-caps beetling through those volumes seemed over. Men now wrote books to sell; and not tedious histories either. One could get scandal or old campfire tales or imagined adventures of magnificent champions borrowed loosely from courtly lore. Maidens didn’t always stay that way. If it was popular, or authors paid someone to say so, Khandians were employed to copy them for sale to a wider audience. Nag Kath was still not tempted to write his own history. No one would ever believe it.

______________-------_____________

The meeting ran long. It was agreed they would bypass the Shire and make directly for Annúminas after the Gap cleared. The King left most of the presentation to Prince Eldarion since he would command, the first joint Arnor/Gondor foray since Aragorn combined them with the Rohirrim against Easterlings almost sixty years ago. 

The heir collected his things and left with the soldiers. As Nag Kath rose, Aragorn said, “A moment, my friend. Have you considered if what you face is beyond the use of steel?”

“I think I will know. Whether that is soon enough I cannot say. I told your heir I will have to be in the van, probably in stealth before the army. We shall see how the ground lays.”

“Good answer.” King Elessar rose and the two walked out of the council room together towards the private apartments. Before Nag Kath veered off to the main entrance, Princess Inariel and her duenna emerged from the royal suites. Seeing her da, she approached and bowed saying, “Good afternoon, Father. Mother says not to forget we have dinner with the Ambassador tonight.”

“It is full in my memory. Daughter Inariel, do you remember Lord Kath?”

Inariel looked him up and down and said coolly, “Yes, the yrch.”

Nag Kath kept his usual bland smile. It appeared the young woman had been talking with her mother. It took more than spoiled princesses to put Orc Six off his feed. He bowed again, “At your service in any form, My Lady.”

What servant would be so bold! Inariel was incensed and spat, “Think your service in any manner would not be loathsome and disdained?!”

Aragorn had heard quite enough, “Silence, daughter! This person is a guest in my house which is all you need know. Apologize now and go to your quarters until I decide where I have failed in your upbringing.”

Blush in her cheeks turned to ash. Her father had never scolded her thusly. The Princess looked at her shoes and mumbled, “Forgive me, good sir. I spoke thoughtlessly.”

Both she and her attendant bowed deeply and returned to the royal apartments, almost hitting the slowly opened door.

The King turned to his guest and said, “I am sorry, Nag Kath. That is unlike her. Perhaps the stress of her brother in harm’s way has clouded her sense of propriety.”

Nag Kath put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “If you will see to her manners, the Lord Prince and I will see to Angmar.”

Both men smiled and shook hands before the Elf bowed and went to make his preparations.

Princess Inariel threw herself on her bed sobbing. Miss Kurtish closed her door from the outside. How could father take the side of that, that creature?! It was so unfair. Why had he not slain them all?!

The tantrum became the realization she had shamed her beloved father with her petulance and contumely. The best man who ever lived, embarrassed by his churlish daughter even as he fights fierce enemies! She could not remember ever crying like that before. Please, oh please, by all the powers that smile on our family, let this not harm his noble work!

The King himself walked back to his office collecting his scribe to answer the note from Minister Helling. Now, what about Inariel? Had she asked Arwen about the comely guest last fall? The Queen would not have disparaged him so the girl must have done some digging on her own. Nag Kath was an old but poorly-kept secret anywhere in Middle-earth. The Princess could miss a dinner and explain herself in the morning. Even though she appeared grown, he knew her mixed Elvish and Dúnedain blood was only now giving her womanly cycles, with all those attendant difficulties.


	25. Crescent of Ghosts

**_Chapter 25_ **

**_Crescent of Ghosts_ **

The Prince was the leader of men. His party of five hundred made brisk time through Rohan after adding a hundred of the King’s best in Anorien. Riders of the Mark added another hundred. Restoration at Tharbad had been dashed by another flood two years back. It was simply a bad place to put a city. With only normal snow-melt this year, the ferries were pummeled by the current and it took a week to get the men across. Eldarion went straight north to Bree and bypassed the Shire making for Fornost, a five day ride without pushing the pack animals too hard. His Lordship traveled light. He commandeered what they needed, paid good cash and saw to the welfare of his future subjects. No one complained.

Annúminas was the model for Bozisha-Kantû, one of the magnificent cities of the early Third Age, Elendil’s capital. Aragorn chose it for his northern realm right after the war and probably had it in mind as a Ranger of these lands long before. It sat on the third blue jewel; Lake Evendim.

The city was now functional. Built from the astonishingly hard local stone, many structures had survived two millennia of neglect. Always working against the great old citadels; there weren’t nearly enough people. One doesn’t build grand monuments unless the granary is at least half full. Without enough defenders, outer walls are merely shields for enemy archers.

The city was the typical confusion of quartering a huge influx of men and horses. They were expected, but that is not the same as knowing where to cook the food. Nag Kath had his Lembas and joined a conference of Eldarion and his captains at a large oval table. After bowing to the Lords, his Prince announced, “Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath. He is a special counselor on matters of lore.”

He knew the Gondor and Rohirrim contingent well, but better than half the room was officers of Arnor. Nag Kath listened for close to an hour. Most of the discussion was about assembling the army. Authors of popular ladies’ books praise muscular heroes slaying hosts of villains. That is grand when you get there, but soldiers eat a lot first. Wagons get stuck in the mud. When it rains, everything gets soaked unless you have enough tents. You need socks and swords and bandages. These men were not ready to march just yet. 

There was a large map on the table so the men stood for Colonel Gheras-lithend’s presentation. Like Mordor, Angmar is surrounded on three sides by mountains. In this case, the ranges are shaped like a crab claw open to the west with the shorter pincer to the south. The tall soldier used a stick to tap positions starting with, “We count roughly a thousand orcs along the southern hills and another fifteen hundred from about half the length to the tip of the northern claw. They do not like each other.

“The men are nearer the closed end where the water is better. We do not have a count on them but fair estimates are two thousand swords. They grow grain, vegetables and sheep. They also fashion their own weapons from iron in the hills behind them. They always did know how to make swords here.” 

One of the Gondorans asked, “Do they have more than scouting-strength horse?”

Governor Commündith answered, “We have seen raiding parties of as many as thirty. If they have more than that, they keep it to themselves. Infantry are mostly pikemen but they carry swords as well. They also have very good light ballista that can be moved quickly by horse.” The soldiers discussed cavalry defenses, water quality, roads and all the things warriors must know.

The Governor added, “Big place; Angmar. Men and orcs, each to their own areas. Men trade at Shedûn on the lower tip but only local drovers take goods into the interior. There is a good pass twenty leagues closer to the capital but that puts us among the lower orc tribes. A third pass behind the city would be perfect except it is only suitable for infantry.”

Nag Kath was quiet throughout. While listening he looked to the Prince who gave the slightest nod. Waiting for a lull, the Elf asked, “Colonel Gheras-lithend, do you have any maps of their capital city?”

“We do not.”

The Elf asked, “Do you know if there are any temples or places of large gatherings or worship?”

Gheras-lithend seemed slightly annoyed by the pretty Gondoran civilian. He answered, “No, their religion does not concern us.”

The Elf nodded in thanks.

Colonel Ionthand of Arnor asked the Prince, “Sir, may I ask the purpose of this campaign?”

Eldarion said gravely, “You may. Nag Kath believes there are remaining sorceries causing disturbances in a number of places to the south. We purpose to be quit of them.”

Gheras-lithend looked at the Elf and asked, “And you know where they are?”

“Not yet.”

The Gondorans knew who and what the youthful-looking officer was. Arnoran officer Dephusal, a great, great nephew of Legatorn from Orthanc, wondered if the blonde might put a sword through the staff Colonel’s foot. Before he did, the heir closed, “I have every confidence we can bring this to a successful conclusion. Please continue your preparations.”

As the meeting adjourned Nag Kath whispered to the Prince, “We need spies. Do we know who here works for Angmar?”

_____________-------____________-

Diervunn had not been in the meeting. His purview was the city proper. The man dressed plainly with clever eyes. He found Nag Kath sitting on a bench sketching a ramp between towers and invited himself to join. “I understand you are curious about visitors in Annúminas.”

The Elf put his backing-board down and smiled at the innocent use of ‘visitors’. He replied, “Especially ones who think they are unnoticed.”

“That culls the list to one.”

“A soldier?”

Diervunnan thought a moment and answered, “At one time. He is a merchant now.”

“I know the type. Does he report back as far as the capital?”

“That we do not know, but he seems to take a long time between trips.”

Nag Kath looked the guardi in the eye, “I don’t suppose he is here now?”

Angmari were a different breed than the men of the northwest wilds. They were generally shorter and darker haired with slate-gray eyes. There were a number of them here. They stayed together. Most escaped the fell claw and had no loyalties at home, but they were also poor, which made them receptive. 

Merchant Querishoul used those conditions to his advantage. He kept modest quarters in the city and brought goods to Annúminas twice a year. Few of his wares were from Angmar because they were hard to sell, but he needed to maintain appearances. Captain Diervunn explained his travels were subsidized by information he brought back to the claw. The guardi could have arrested him any time, but like many in his profession, Diervunn felt it was better to know your enemy. Information always escaped. This way they could add their own tidings to the mix.

The merchant had planned to leave in two days but the arrival of the heir and seven-hundred horse, far more than ever brought before, made him remember chores he should do here. A few of the refugee population spoke to him discreetly. They were folk who tended horses, prepared food and did things for lack of Arnorans. Querishoul didn’t mind the wait. Here and Fornost were the nicest places on his route. He could attend personal needs from the local women for a half-groat if he wasn’t too picky.

One of his informants told him an officer of the council dropped a folio in a corridor near the palace. The merchant growled, “Why didn’t you bring it here?”

The nervous man stammered, “I tried, but a soldier approached. I drew his attention so he did not notice. If it has value, I hope you will remember your good friend.”

The merchant knew the man did not read. “Perhaps. Where is it?”

The papers inside were written in a language Querishoul did not know. A waste of time! As he left, he felt oddly confused, even more so than after eating the spiced fish last night. Someone told him to follow. He did not want to. He did not need to be seen. But he went because he must.

The merchant was led to a small room with a glass window and seated across from a man he did not know. The tall one asked him queer questions about Litash. Yes, there are stone buildings. No, none look like that one. He drifted through describing the streets of the capital and soldiers and their revered ruler, known only as the Seer. The Seer has powers and so do his Kieresh servants. No, I do not know where he gets his powers. Querishoul had no sense of time. 

The trader also explained how men travel to Litash nearer the middle of the crescent to avoid orcs cleaving to the leeward side of the near crab-claw. Northern orcs had dealings with the Seer, sometimes hiding in caves on the road to Gundabad. 

Then he forgot everything that happened today.

No; not everything. He did remember his informant telling him the Elessar Prince brought troops to put down a rebellion with the troublesome Arthedains to the west. Local troops might be in league and therefore untrustworthy. There was a traitor among them; tall, blonde, a Prince of the south grown weary of his uncle’s rule. 

The day Querishoul left with information about the Prince’s purpose, the Prince called another war council.

____________-------____________

Nag Kath needed to know more about how the two orc clans dealt with each other. As arranged, the Prince gave him the floor towards the end of the meeting.

Starting slowly, as he did when addressing groups, Nag Kath said, “Sirs, I see the main army having to turn the corner at Shedûn and being no surprise when we get to Litash. I propose taking a small force through the low pass and making a bargain with the southern orcs to keep out of the way. That force will go through the orc lines and intercept riders with tidings from the claw tip. From there we make for Litash as advance scouts or wait for the troops if the way is closed. 

Ionthand asked in earnest, “Mr. Kath, what manner of bargain?”

I have dealt with similar orcs on the other side of Gundabad. They are easy to bribe with food, not to fight, mind, but they will stay put. That was useful in Dale too.”

Staff Colonel Gheras-lithend had still not been told about the mysterious blonde and asked as he might of a rash junior officer, “And just what makes you think you can parlay with these?”

The Elf semed to grow in size and gravity growling in the same voice Gandalf used at the Council of Elrond, ** _“ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul”_** – the first part of the ring inscription.

While everyone else’s hair was standing on end, Eldarion said with the slightest pinch of a smile, “Lord Kath has certain … skills.”

It was mid-May. If they were going this year, they had to be out of the crescent before the snows. That meant making the turn at Shedûn by September at the latest. They would provision for twelve hundred cavalry with another two hundred pack horses capable of the same speed. Some of that was already in hand but if they weren’t ready, they would wait until spring. Sorcery was a slow threat and they were attacking entrenched positions. Arnor’s small infantry would secure the home defenses. 

Colonel Ionthand’s Third Arnoran Rangers would lead one hundred eighty of those horses in Nag Kath’s probe over the low pass but they would travel most of the way with the main army. Merchant traffic along the route would be diverted going in. A full company would camp in the southern footpath pass to the capital to strangle tidings. Before the army moved, three wagons with dried fish and grain were driven to the near side of the low pass at Gram as soon as it could be gathered. They would leave it hidden under tarps, cheap insurance against coming to terms with the southern orcs. Advance men would quietly secure fodder and livestock along the main route.

The Prince took most of his Gondorans west for a few days and brought them back filthy in case anyone was wondering about his reason for coming north with such a force. Then they drilled with the local levies using spears and swords. Nag Kath participated or observed exercises but spent most of his time studying every scrap of paper and speaking with refugees about the Seer. Most of them escaped as the man came to rule nine years before and were not much help on current affairs. Few had left since and none in the last three years, at least; not that came here. One fellow had been a builder and helped the Elf sketch a much better layout of Litash as it stood a decade ago. There was a central hall from antiquity but gatherings had been banned under the new ruler.

He still wracked his brain for what sort of vessel the Witch-King might have imbued with his power. Was it part of him like Sauron’s ring? Was it a store of energy left like a savings jar? Of what size and nature? Nag Kath was fairly sure he could sense it if he got close. He spoke often with the Colonel and some of his senior men about his own colorful background. They would have to keep their wits for more than just Angmari. One officer asked to be reassigned, better now than in the fray.

The Prince led. The train lurched forward and made Fornost in five days, a day slower than a good pace with riders only. Adding more men and horses, the main army turned northeast and followed the road skirting the jagged ridges pointing at the crescent.

Colonel Ionthand’s company made due east for the Ettenmoors; famous troll country. It was a dull ride over fair ground with good water so they did not need to carry heavy water skins. As always; they lost a few horses to lameness but arrived at the Sin Marve River and turned north after day 21 on the road.

The trail was good but narrow so they rode no wider than double-file for another seven days along the river until crossing an east/west road where the fish and wheat were stashed. They took the food with them for Mt. Gram another two days almost due north. Reaching a rather pretty lake, the battalion camped as six scouts and Nag Kath picked their way up the pass for a look on the other side.

This was orc country and no error. The men set a fire-less camp just over the ridge after checking for caves. Those were likely much nearer the valley floor but no one wanted surprises. Nag Kath took the forward watch looking for activity but without much of a moon and clouds, he didn’t see anything. Just before dawn, he did hear orcs yelling at each other, too far to understand but it was not a cry that men were camped above them.

The plan was to take four of the pack horses and two dozen riders down to the valley and leave food samples along with a note using the same variety of languages and symbols Nag Kath left above Erebor. If they wanted to talk, they should leave a large red banner behind. The delivery went smoothly although one of the trooper’s horses was uncontrollable and the rider had to take him back to camp. The party wasn’t more than two hours behind him and a full company took positions at the crest now that they had played their hand.

If the orcs responded, negotiations would be more subtle than the neutrality of the eastern bands. The main difference was that this lot might already be in-league with or even servants of the men inside the horn. If so, this overture shouldn’t betray the Prince's intent. Hopefully the story of a blonde traitor added a feint. Failing that; they would threaten force down the pass and keep the orcs busy while the main army slipped around.

It took two days but a bloody blanket draped over a bush was as good a signal as they would get. Another complication was that even Nag Kath would not go down to the valley. If the orcs played them false, he would be the appetizer before the whisker-fish. A party of no more than twelve orcs was to come to the mountain pass. They would be soldiers their Lugnash could spare, so probably not the lads to cut a deal. Their Sarn't could take a message back and, if needed, could be shown the food wagons just downhill. 

On schedule, a few more than a dozen of the brutes trudged up the slope, swords drawn; the bravest, most expendable or most ambitious of the soldiery below. They didn’t expect what they got.

Men were gathered around a campfire spitting two halves of a pig to perfection. The wind was blowing west or the orcs would have already been drooling. Nag Kath walked up to within twenty feet of the leader with a slight bow and said in the Black Speech, **_“Ah, you are just in time for dinner!”_**

Two troopers took half of the swine on a tarp near the befuddled orcs and returned to their meals. Archers waited behind the rocks if things went wrong but there were no whistles or hoots that reinforcements were creeping behind this first lot.

As if he was the Sayer in a Catanard, Nag Kath continued, **_“Eat, is good. We will talk.”_** His own men were wary, but after a month of hard biscuits and porridge, they could eat pork as part of their duties. The officer told his orcs to sit where they stood except for two who tore hunks off the carcass and passed them around. 

When they were seated and eating in a fashion it was fortunate not to see, Nag Kath walked over to the leader and sat five feet away saying, **_“I am Solvanth. We come as friends.”_**

No matter his orders, no one said the orc couldn’t eat cooked pig first. It wasn’t until he had wiped his hands on his coat that the creature said, **_“Sergeant Brishnug. What do you want?”_**

He spoke a different mix of black and orcish but was understandable. The Elf appeared to consider that in the firelight and replied, **_“We travel to Litash.”_**

That was the blandest thing he could say. It did not identify them as being with or against anyone, particularly leadership in the capital. The orc was unimpressed. **_“Go around.”_**

Again, the Elf gave long deliberation to that good advice before saying, **_“Northern orcs are not trouble?”_**

That was sure to get a rise. They were separated for a reason, even if they couldn’t say so. Less forcefully than Nag Kath expected, the Sergeant said, **_“Felshuu band serves Seer. They stay north.”_**

Nag Kath said gregariously to a trooper watching for the signal, “Why don’t you bring over more for the Sergeant.” If the man could have stretched his arm another three feet he would have. The orc took it without lunging and had a bite. Not quite stroking his chin the Elf added, **_“You do not speak for Felshuu band?”_**

 ** _“Mehaaa!”_** Bits of swine landed on the Elf’s trousers. **_“They are schukkk!”_**

**_“They are not here?”_ **

This time the orc swallowed enough to say, **_“Where sun comes up. Litash.”_**

Nag Kath was getting somewhere. These orcs are hostile to the band directly above the capital who work for the Seer. That would give the King a free path directly east to Litash if he could convince these lads it was in their interest not to interfere. 

Nag Kath said, **_“Far from you!”_**

With an orcish grin, **_“Good! Felshuu schukkk!”_**

Nag Kath probed, **_“Seer commands Felshuu?”_**

**_"Of course."_ **

**_"How many?"_ **

Even an orc can have enough pig and it was time to see what the men wanted. **_“Hard to say.”_**

Nag Kath had to hope the Felshuu didn’t have a spy in their midst. **_“You want more fish?”_**

**_“More fish?”_ **

**_“Much more fish.”_ **

**_“For what?”_ **

**_“Nothing. Soldiers come through pass. You stay in your caves. More fish.”_ **

The orc snorted, **_“You kill us!”_**

**_“We are just passing through. Two wagons fish. One wagon wheat.”_ **

**_“You lie.”_ **

**_“Will show you. We bring with us.”_ **

Brishnug was told to barter, **_“Five!”_**

**_“We only brought three.”_ **

**_“Four!”_ **

The Elf was firm, **_“Three.”_**

**_“You give, you go to Litash?”_ **

Nag Kath said as if the orc had driven a hard bargain, **_“We go to road. Do not see you.”_**

He had gathered this fellow was more than a Sergeant. The orc said, **_“When?”_**

**_“Two days. Food is guarded now. We leave it behind. You take food when we go.”_ **

This was the first time men had offered them anything, much less to stay home and eat. He growled, **_“Do! Two days you come. We see fish now!”_**

It may have been the strangest scene in Middle-earth. Two very stuffed orcs followed two well-fed troopers down the hill by torchlight to inspect the goods, neither pair sure who was guarding whom. It was about a two hour walk. The troopers could make their way to the Colonel's main camp rather than come back up in the dark. The orcs might have a cave down there or return. That was their business.

Brishnug ordered the rest back down the hill after settling an argument over the pig’s spine. Nag Kath told them to take the other carcass too. Sentries above the gap on either side whistled all-clear about half an hour after the orcs left.

When he heard that, Lieutenant Borgan drawled, “After I issue new underwear, do you want to tell me what in the name of Eru just happened?”

Nag Kath helped himself to a plate of vegetables and sat down with the men. Some of them had eaten too much and regretted it. The Elf considered a lennas green and replied, “Same as the lot above Erebor. We have a deal. These southern orcs don’t work with the northern ones. If he told any truth, the others are all just north of Litash and in league with the Seer. This lot will let our brigade through to the main road and they get the food when we go.”

The Elf wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The road is open for the Prince.”

________________--------________________

The orcs looked at the food and scampered back up the hill. It would take a lot of them to get it home and would take these two all night from the wagons to their caves. When they were gone, one of the troopers who escorted the orcs down the hill walked over to Colonel Ionthand’s tent and reported, “Excuse me sir, the officer said to shoot the rocket.” 

They were committed. King Elessar's last firework was fired into the northwest sky. By the time Eldarion’s main army reached the road even with the orc pass, Ionthand’s men would have a three day head-start and either be waiting or scouting ahead. The Prince was prepared to fight the whole way but now he knew he could drive at speed.

Three days after the pig dinner, the main army rounded the bend in sight of Shedûn. Townsmen came out to watch. Three riders left in a hurry towards the capital. As expected, two days later they rode into a dozen archers from the Second Rhudahr cavalry who had orders to keep one alive if possible as long as no one got through. One rider made it to the command tent.

The most annoying way to try evading an interrogator is pretending you don’t understand the language. Angmari used a pigeon Black Speech but spies listening to trading-post gossip would know some Westron. The Colonel asked the man basic questions about his hurry and what to expect in the capital. When he got nowhere, a tall, blonde man was asked inside. 

The rider wasn’t more than twenty three, a messenger, like his interrogator had been. Nag Kath asked a few of the same questions the Colonel had in Westron with the same result. Then he asked one in the Black Speech. The young man’s face contorted. He was not told about this. He tried bluster, **_“You have no right! This is the Seer’s land. I order you to release me!”_**

A beam of yellow light shone on his face as the Elf said gently, **_“Tell me of your home.”_**

The junior officers were uncomfortable with that. Other than speaking orcish, the tall one seemed an ordinary man. The messenger tried to resist at first then started to speak. Then he started to choke. Blood dripped out of his nose and his eyes were bloodshot. His head shook for a few seconds and he fell face-first on the table.

Nag Kath growled, “Dougsh!” and rose to put his hand on the dead captive’s neck. The men saw his hand change color for a moment. He flopped back into the folding chair and said nothing.

It was the King’s policy not to torture prisoners. They had during the war and hadn’t had much reason to since, but the men in the tent just watched the blonde officer slay the messenger with devilry. Ionthand didn’t care, but would give him the benefit of the doubt. “Nag Kath?”

The changeling’s brows were knitted staring at the young man. He looked to the Colonel and said softly, “It was his master’s spell. I cannot be sure of the exact thought, but the Seer made sure he wasn’t going to talk. That makes the Seer a sorcerer of more power than I expected.”

They had waited for any riders where they emerged from orc lands on the road. More scouts were in the foothills watching the orcs. They seemed behaved. Orcs will eat so much they can hardly move for days. This was not an ideal camp so the Colonel ordered them slowly east towards Litash with scouts well ahead and fanned to the north. The terrain was rolling hills in grassland so the advance-riders rode from ridge to ridge and then signaled the main company up. They saw no one. If the Prince was on schedule, he was fully two days behind and would catch them as Ionthand’s men cautiously followed their van.

______________-------_____________

“Good morning Your Lordship.”

“Good morning, Sarn’t Jesskellan.”

“Sir, the van found Colonel Ionthand’s first camp three miles ahead. The orcs were persuaded to stay home. They left the message that the company was moving behind his advance scouts. Three riders bound for Shedûn were slain. At this rate we will join them two days hence.

Eldarion pulled on his second boot, “Two days? That’s two thirds of the way. Good. I want to be long past this pass by night. Keep a weather-eye on orcs to our south.” 

Nearing the bowl of the claw, the ground flattened to the point where there was no hiding. The advance group started to see small farms along the creeks leading north from the mountains, evidence that this was further east than the local orcs roamed. Farmers hid for their lives at the sound of soldiers. Nothing good ever came of soldiers. Two days later the advance party came to a flat where the ground fell away towards the capital river-valley. They could go no further without being observed so they waited for the main army whose dust was already rising behind them. Scouts reported the city was un-walled. Nag Kath went with the next team and saw outlines of cavalry defenses using spiked trenches but only in front and south of the capital. Presumably the orcs defended from the north. After another day of the advance company being as still as possible, the main column arrived. 


	26. Ulig

**_Chapter 26_ **

**_Ulig_ **

In Litash, a runner knocked the correct four times and was admitted to the Seer’s chambers. “Your pardon, Most High, sentries report a large army is massing ten leagues to the west on the main road.”

“Ten … how did they get that close?!” Silently he wondered why the orcs had not sent word.

“I cannot say, Most High. We know they are cavalry. Riders have been dispatched to learn their strength.”

“Call my generals to me.”

The Seer started life as Varsiig. Like most in Angmar after the Witch-King perished, his ancestors were more concerned with eating than magic. About the same number of men and orcs returned from the war and after years of fighting came to a grudging accommodation over control of the scant water flowing into the claw. Varsiig was now forty. His faction overthrew Drenald’s adherents eleven years ago and fed them to the orcs’ warags after tiring of their begging. The northern orcs attacked not long after he seized control and were defeated. He brought them to his will, a weak and pitiful race; orcs. Let them think themselves allies! 

Like Nulvanash to the south, Varsiig had small powers, but no ancient sect carried the Witch-King’s torch. Varsiig had learned that by spending time in the frozen cavern on the road to Gundabad he could control men. It spoke to him. Unlike many of the old orc caves around the perimeter, it was always covered in ice, just as the land was during the long winters. Angmar knew cold. With his touch he could make men bleed or cry or do anything to avoid that. He could keep them from telling secrets. Woe betide any who challenged his authority. Was it only two years ago that men who died besieged in the ice caverns centuries ago began to show themselves? He could not speak to them yet, but it was coming. Varsiig was a patient man.

He aged slowly. His wife had been younger than him. Now she was barren and old so he took women from the town. One officer had the temerity to defend his own wife. His scars cautioned the others. Now the Seer ruled seven thousand fortunate souls. The permanent army stood at fourteen hundred with another nine hundred militia and as many as three thousand orcs in thrall. With so many grateful subjects, how did an army arrive on his doorstep?! The generals hastened.

“Xhrandosh, why have your defenders not slain these men, let alone not seen them?”

Xhrandosh knew his life was over. He hoped it would be quick. His wife would slit their son’s throat if the Seer’s elite approached their quarters. He came here to give her time. The man said with dignity, “I do not know, Most High. All word from the gap is smothered.”

The Seer asked, “How many men do you have astraddle the west road?”

“Six-hundred sixty in three companies, Most High.”

“Then you will have the honor of being the first to engage. Position them on either side of the defile with yourself in the front.”

Xhrandosh stiffened and said, “I obey, Most High.” The Seer could have just loosed the blood in his brain. Like all officers, Xhrandosh had submitted to hands aside his head for his Lord’s judgment. It was better to die by the sword. The man turned on his heels and called for his horse.

Varsiig turned to the orc. “You know what to do. All of your troops and warags flank the invaders from the north. Drive them to the caves. What are you waiting for?” The creature was gone. Eighty horse were already harrying scouts from the north ahead of the orcs. Similar orders were given to the city militia and his elite troops. It was every soldier he had ... 

______________-------______________

... but not every weapon. Officers dismissed, his steward took him down the long hall to a room that was both suite and gaol. The retainer unlocked the door and a woman inside was quickly on her knees, head lowered. Last time she hadn’t done it quickly enough so her Seer burned a hand-print in her scalp. He let her grovel for a moment and told her to leave.

She was tending a fat child of perhaps ten who continued playing with his toy soldiers. Varsiig approached with a smile, “Hello Ulig.”

“Hello Uncle.”

“Have you been well?”

“Yes, Uncle. The woman and I have been playing. You are right, she is tedious.”

“We are going to have a new game now. You will make Uncle very proud. Come, we will go to the cave.”

“Must we, Uncle? It is so cold there.”

Varsiig enticed, “Your soldiers will be there.”

“Yes Uncle, but it is still so cold.”

The Seer had to play his real game. Two years ago this peasant child was discovered to have sorcery. In time, he would be far more powerful than the Seer. Before then the brat must die. Patient Varsiig did not waste in his northern Kingdom. Ulig had been held against need. Now it was time for him to be realized. The Seer cajoled, “Oh, but we must. Special sweets are waiting there for you.”

Sweets! How Ulig loved sweets. His wretched governess never had sweets. His parents did not. Uncle punished them. His sister never gave him sweets. Now she was handed from soldier to soldier. It was foolish for them not to give Ulig sweets!

The lad brightened, “Yes, Uncle. Can we go now?”

“Of course, Ulig. Of course.”

Eight miles from Litash, Eldarion could see troops running into position. His captains had been too pessimistic. If every man this Seer had was falling-in, they would hardly slow the Prince’s lead column. The unknown was the northern orcs. Eldarion’s first urge was to charge now with the enemy in complete disarray. No, he would wait for the dawn or risk being exposed to orcish legions tonight and forced into those gullies. Bonfires were lit along the ravines leading to the plateau where they camped with every archer at the ready.

Ulig rode on the horse with the large man who was always by his Uncle. It was uncomfortable. He had his heavy coat for the cold and his warm lambskin boots. Four other men rode alongside. His Uncle was an important man! Ulig would be important too. His important Uncle was counting his chickens. Reports before he left were that better than a thousand horsemen were ready to ride above him. It could only be the Elessar. They would easily crush his men if launched with the remaining sun. He must drive them here and keep them here until night.

They rode to the little settlement of servants below the second ice cavern, the small, powerful cave. Perhaps forty women and children were left now that every man hastened to the road. All bowed in fear. They understood. As he learned the secrets of the cave, all of the north would bow. It was said a great sorcerer had lived here and made Angmar his capital. His symbols still adorned buildings and shields. 

Leaving his hulking bodyguard with the horses, Varsiig took little Ulig up the rocks and around the boulder that kept any sun from reaching inside. The outriders lit torches and went in first, followed by the Seer and his protégée. As always, the boy’s presence raised the ghosts that prowled in the rising mist, surrounded by ice and darkness. Silly that their breath didn’t smoke like his and Uncle’s. The guards’ breath froze too, but what did they matter? 

The spoiled child whined, “Uncle, you said I could have sweets!”

The Seer smiled in the flickering light, “Yes, of course. I have them here.” 

Usually servants carried everything the Seer needed but for Ulig, he had a special bag. As Varsiig looked through it, Ulig saw the ghosts prowling in their little circles as he imagined them on his first visit. He could bring them forth from confinement. He could make them hunt. Not afraid, he walked towards one and cried, “Stop! Bow your head before The Most High!”

The specter looked their way. Everyone in the cave saw it. Far to the south, other specters stalking their graveyards became that much more aware of the world around them. Yes, it was time for the Seer to be rid of Little Ulig. The tyrant leaned over to his ward and soothed, “See, Uncle did not forget. It is a new flavor. This is all for you.”

Having had no sweets all day, the child quickly chewed the delicious treats. In them was Varsiig’s fell brain-bleeding pox; now contagious and fatal. The little monster breathed hard he was eating so fast, absorbing the air of this evil place to increase the potency of a wicked spell the Seer poured into him through an avuncular hand on his shoulder.

It did not take long. The three torchbearers began convulsing on the cavern floor. The man posted outside did the same as they passed by. Now alone, the two sorcerers walked back to the settlement where Uncle said, “Bad men are coming. You must stay here tonight until Uncle can punish them and bring more sweets. Will you do that for your dear Uncle?”

“Yes Uncle. I am tired now. Do you promise to return?”

“Of course, Ulig.”

The Seer pointed the round child towards a woman who had been told to wait for him. Outdoors, the invisible swirl of disease took a little longer. She showed him to his bed, walked back to the garden and doubled in pain. Neighbors who came to her aid joined her.

______________-------_____________

The Prince’s camp was well guarded. Archers were positioned where they could shoot into ravines lit by bonfires. It would be a good moon tonight. If the orcs insisted on tasting steel, they would. Almost involuntarily, Eldarion looked to the undefended north access. That was the easiest way for cavalry to skirt the primary defenses. The heir rightly smelled a rat. Somewhere out there, Nag Kath and twenty four men were creeping their way into the northern approach trying to find what they came all this way to destroy.

The Prince looked at the sky. The Star of Eärendil would be soon be in view. Eldarion offered a silent prayer to his honored grandfather. Please, smile down in favor as you sail the heavens, bless us and cleanse these lands of war without end. He kissed the guard of his sword and slid it in the scabbard.

The Elf felt a surge, something much more terrible than he had ever felt in Khand. It came from just north of the city. They walked their horses through the frightened farm wives and picked up the pace as the valley opened before them. It would be dark in a few hours. Nag Kath kept in front. They were relying on his ability to track the sorcery. The source was a clarion horn of evil in the last few hours. All twenty four troopers dismounted at a small village on the path up to the base of the cliffs. Bodies lay by a garden gate. As the men got closer, they could see other corpses scattered throughout the huts. 

A warning in Nag Kath’s brain screamed it was a trap. Corporal Bollanger bent in agony and groaned as blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Within seconds, the rest of the men did the same. Nag Kath ran to the nearest trooper on his knees and pulled his face up as the soldier’s eyes reddened. The Elf tried to absorb the disease. It had sunk too deep. There was no saving his men. Frantically he looked at them and to the villagers lying where they fell. Among them stood a portly child with dark curly hair watching Nag Kath’s despair with seeming satisfaction. Why hadn’t he died? Nag Kath's healing sorcery for the dying trooper colored his vision and he saw the boy for what he was, disease swirling around him like thousands of flies.

Nag Kath used his bringing spell sending the shocked youngster flying across the courtyard. Uncle said nothing about this! The Elf had him by the throat in one hand and placed his other against the monster’s face. Nag Kath knew the drawing would surely kill him but if he didn’t get it, the Prince’s army would die here too. 

It took nearly a minute. With his powers, the lad might have resisted but was too spoiled to have built any defenses. He flailed and peed himself. When Nag Kath removed the last of the plague, he snapped the child’s neck in time to watch the dirt rise to his face.

__________--------__________

Templagk Ghurbagh slipped in the troll cave at first dark and reported to Anglachor Khuul. The Colonel of one hundred eighteen orcs and ten tsitsi warags looked up from where he was squatting and growled, “What tidings from Lugnach Tevshguuul?” It was not asked in reverence.

The orc messenger reported, “A change of plans, sir. The enemy is Elessar. He holds position and does not chase the Seer's rabble. Our ruler waits to learn their strength. I am ordered to tell you to stay here tonight.”

Khuul of the Felshuu was not pleased. This was the advance group to scout ambush points. They had traveled hard and were hungry. “I don’t suppose you brought food for us?!”

The Templagk had been trained to be accurate, not servile. “Spitted pigs are on their way from the south band.”

“I do not care for your humor, messenger!”

“How do you think we learned of the Elessar?”

The Colonel knew the Templagk was doing as told and would have risked burning sunlight to get here this fast. “Very well. Tell our Lugnach your tidings are received."

That was the protocol, but he also didn’t want the little spy around when the company went out tonight for dinner. They would be back by morning. If a great battle was coming, who would miss a few villagers? He gave the Templagk half an hour to scamper back up the hill. Then all of the orcs and wargs descended the narrow path past the Seer’s ice caves and into the defenseless village. 

This was too good to be true! Women and soldiers were freshly piled for the taking. Varsiig's curse did not affect his supposed servants. Only men foolish enough to defy him would die. The Anglachor shouted, “Drag ten of the big ones into the near cave for tomorrow. Then return here for the feast!” 

Late that night, the Templagk messenger crept back telling them to withdraw to their strongholds in the north. The Elessar had twelve times ten times ten horse and would crush the Seer. The Seer could see to Elessar himself. They left sated.

_____________-------_____________

The Angmari were no match for western cavalry. Without orc support forcing them to the trap, Eldarion drove a wedge into their thin line along the road far enough to reach the reserves and then sent his flankers to roll-up the support militias guarding the gullies into the capital. They weren’t on the field three hours. Bodies of the officers were placed in a row. The Seer was much better dressed than the rest. A badly scarred militiaman put a spear through his ribs before they surrendered.

Further north, Prince Eldarion Telcontar walked through the pile of bones and flesh torn to shreds by orcs and wargs. Hardened men puked. They picked through what was left of uniforms and weapons. The disease died with its carrier who, to all eyes, seemed a poor child whose head rolled into a ditch next to an Elvish sword. Any other lord of Middle-earth would have burned the grain fields behind him. 

Bodies still stared at the stars in the Dead Marshes but no longer prowled to escape. Seer Varsiig could not have done that. It took the imagination of youth to raise his toy soldiers. 

This Ends **_Second Lives_** ,

the fourth book of **_Nag Kath_**


End file.
